Joy in the Mourning
by Cobrilee
Summary: When Derek left him and fled to New York, Stiles found love again with Lydia. Now, eight years later, Lydia is gone and Derek is back to help Stiles raise his twin sons. It makes him wonder: how long are you supposed to grieve your wife's death before you can try again with the man who broke your heart?


**A/N: I have this marked as complete, but it kind of isn't. Quite honestly, I have so much left I want to write for this story, but the problem is I started having other ideas and getting sidetracked with other stories, several of which have become huge projects in their own right. I wanted to get this posted, but I don't really feel that it's done, and I don't want to write the remainder as a "sequel" because everything I have left feels like it's just building on what I've already written. What I decided to do is post this as if it's complete, because where it's at really feels like it could be an ending (on the chance that I never get back around to finishing everything I still have planned for it). If I can finish it, I'll update it with a part two. Otherwise, this can stand alone. I poured so much of myself into this, so I really hope it gives you all the feelings it gave me. :) (Also, warning: angst ahead. Lots of it. *rubs hands together gleefully and cackles*)**

It had been two years since the last time he saw Derek Hale. But when Stiles looked up from the hands that were clasped in front of him, fingers twisting anxiously and tightening around themselves until his knuckles were white, his eyes red-rimmed and his mind a blur, Derek was the only person he saw, and the band of misery that was currently strangling his heart loosened, just a little.

"Jesus, Stiles." Derek wrapped him up in a hug and Stiles distantly recognized that it was a distinctly un-Derek-like thing to do. On the other hand, he was standing at his wife's freshly-dug grave, so this was an appropriate moment for conventions to go out the window.

"Thank you for coming back," Stiles mumbled, his arms coming up around Derek's waist and squeezing as if the planet was tipping over and Derek was solid ground, and he had to hold on to keep from falling off.

"Are you kidding me? There is nothing that could have kept me from being here for you." He released Stiles and crouched down to get on the same level as Dominic, one of Stiles and Lydia's five-year-old twins. "Or you, kiddo." He opened his arms and Dominic looked at him anxiously, his wide green eyes filling with tears as he looked up at his father.

"It's okay, Dom," he said softly, and Dominic took a hesitant step forward, sliding into Derek's arms and laying his small head against his chest. Stiles' heart contracted a little tighter before releasing again.

Derek straightened, pulling the little boy into his arms as he rose to his full height. He continued to snuggle against the wolf, his thick brown hair pressing into Derek's black suit jacket, and Derek stroked a soothing palm over his head as he looked around. "Where's Hunter?"

"Dad and Melissa took him home after the memorial service," Stiles replied hollowly, rubbing at his eyes with his knuckles. "He was practically in hysterics with all the strangers coming up to him and trying to touch and hug him, so we thought being here might push him over the edge." He glanced around at the mourners, all milling around with tears in their eyes, dabbing at them with soggy, balled-up tissues. The scene was still unreal to him; he felt like he was floating through a pool of murky water that he could sort of see through, but really, he had no idea what was around him.

Derek shook his head in sympathy. "I'm sorry, Stiles."

"Don't." He released a shuddery breath. "You're the strong one. I need that right now, okay? No sympathy."

The other man nodded, shifting Dominic to his hip. The little boy's legs wrapped around his waist and he cocked his hip out, settling him comfortably so he didn't slide. The edges of a smile curled Stiles' lips as he gestured to his son. "That's a bizarrely natural look for you."

Derek snorted. "Like holding a kid is hard." He shrugged. "It might have been a couple years, but there are some things you don't forget how to do."

Stiles nodded, his head and brain on auto-pilot. It was good to have Derek here, for the mindless, meaningless conversation that kept him from breaking down, although it didn't stop him from glancing over at the headstone every few seconds, disbelief punching him in the chest every time.

He was incredibly grateful that Derek stood silently by his side for the next hour, attending to Dominic's needs while Stiles dutifully accepted condolences and tearful exclamations of how it wasn't fair that someone so young and smart and beautiful, someone with a young, smart, beautiful family who needed her, could be taken so cruelly. Stiles plastered a stiff smile on his face and nodded every time, feeling like a wooden puppet with only one movable joint in its neck.

And then finally, finally, they were all gone. Derek was the only one who remained, keeping an eye on Dom, who he'd finally let loose because the boy had gotten restless and didn't really understand why they were standing around for so long. When the last mourner left, Stiles collapsed like a marionette whose strings had been slackened; his chin fell forward into his chest, his knees buckled, and Derek slid an arm around his shoulders to steady him.

"Sorry," Stiles muttered, and Derek scowled.

"You have nothing to be sorry for," he responded sternly. "You are allowed to collapse when your wife dies and you have two little boys at home to take care of."

Stiles' eyelids slammed shut, and when he opened them again the pain radiating out was palpable. "That's exactly why I _can't_ collapse, Der," he replied, his voice cracking. "I have to take care of them. They need me to be strong for them."

"That's what you have _me_ for," Derek insisted, catching Dominic's attention and gesturing for the child to re-join them. "Be strong for your boys. I'll be strong for you."

Yawning, Stiles nodded, leaning into his best friend and shutting his eyes for a brief moment. He inhaled deeply and felt Derek's arms around him again, holding tight, and Stiles once again felt like Derek was the only thing keeping him from spinning off into orbit.

He felt a tug on his suit leg and pulled away from Derek, crouching down to look into Dominic's worried green gaze. "Are you ready to go home?" he asked, and Dominic nodded vigorously, throwing himself into his father's arms. Stiles stood, the weight of the boy feeling like the weight of the world, and Derek's hand on his shoulder was what gave him the strength to take the first step toward his new life. The one without Lydia.

lllll

"Uncle Derek, when are you going home?"

Derek looked up, pretending to consider Hunter's anxious question. "I don't know, buddy, when do you think I should go home?"

"Never!" Dominic yelled, throwing himself into Derek's lap, and he laughed.

"I don't think your dad wants me hanging out for the rest of my life," he teased, glancing up at Stiles to see if there was an objection forthcoming. The weak smile told him Stiles wasn't anywhere close to thinking about life beyond the next week, and then he'd only be thinking about the week after that. "But I'm here for as long as you guys need me."

"We'll always need you!" Dominic insisted, and his younger, shyer twin nodded in agreement.

Derek chuckled, lifting Hunter to sit on his other leg. "How about this. I'll stay until your dad feels better and he can handle dealing with you two little hellions by himself."

"We are not hellions!" Dominic protested, his lower lip sticking out.

"Well, Hunter might not be," Derek allowed. His eyes shone as he beamed at his godson. "You, however, are the reason your father has gray hair at the age of twenty-eight."

Hunter's nose wrinkled. "Wow, Daddy is really old."

Derek bit off a snort, his gaze once again returning to Stiles to see how he'd take Hunter's unflattering observation. Stiles let out a soft huff of laughter, sinking down onto the couch beside Derek and reaching over to tickle his younger son. "Daddy is only old because of you two," he teased, genuine warmth and affection coloring his voice. He flicked a mock-scathing look at Derek. "And I only have a few gray hairs. They make me look distinguished."

Derek held his hands up in surrender. "I never said otherwise." He felt a small twinge of gratitude for the playful banter; Stiles had been virtually sleepwalking through his life the past two weeks. Derek didn't blame him one bit, but it was an immense relief to see signs of life in the eyes that had been pain-dulled of late. It gave him hope that Stiles would find his new normal sooner rather than later, which he wanted for all of their sakes.

Stiles glanced up at the clock. "All right, you two, it's time for bed."

The nightly routine of protests, bargaining, and begging for water and stories got under way. Derek sat back and watched it with pleasure, enjoying getting a chance to witness this part of his friend's life. He regretted not being around the past two years, at least not in a physical way, but it had been tough to be in Stiles' and Lydia's home without wondering what life would have been like for him if it had been _his_ and Stiles' home.

He lifted his eyes, taking in the weariness radiating from every pore of Stiles' body. It was hard even now, being in their house and still feeling like it was _their_ home, like Lydia was still a presence in their lives, but he wouldn't have abandoned his friend right now for anything in the world. Stiles needed him, so he was there. It couldn't get any simpler than that.

"Why don't you two give your dad a break?" Derek suggested gently. "What about if I put you both to bed tonight? Would you do that for me?"

The boys began to cheer enthusiastically, but Stiles shook his head. "I appreciate it, Der, but I think the sooner we establish a new routine, the better," he cut in quietly, and Derek winced. He should have anticipated that. "Don't. You're what's keeping me going right now. There are just some things I need to do myself."

Derek settled back into the couch as Stiles herded the twins up the stairs, feeling a mix of emotions. It wasn't his place to help with bedtime and he knew it, but he'd wanted to do something to help alleviate Stiles' ever-present weariness. He didn't really feel like he'd helped that much since the funeral, and he was beginning to wonder if his presence was really doing Stiles any good.

His phone lit up and began buzzing, dancing across the coffee table, and Derek lifted it more out of habit than an actual desire to converse with anyone. If it was his editor calling and he didn't answer there would be hell to pay anyway, and he had no desire to listen to her lectures. To his relief, it was just a text from Scott.

 _How's he doing?_

Derek considered giving his usual pat response, but this was Scott, and he knew it was killing his fellow wolf not to have been able to come for the funeral. He really needed to know how Stiles was coping. _Barely holding on most days. He might be starting to come out of the fog, but it's still too soon to tell._

 _I'm really sorry I couldn't be there._

 _Scott, he understands. No one expected you to fly halfway across the world for a funeral when Kira is due any day._

 _Still, it's not like this was just any funeral. It's Lydia. She was one of Kira's best friends, and she's been a part of our lives forever. I should have been there._

 _And if you would have missed the birth of your child, or worse, if Kira had any complications and you weren't able to help, you would have hated yourself for not being at home. It's okay._

 _At least he has you._

 _Yeah, he'll always have me._

The three little gray dots began moving on his screen again, only this time it took several minutes before a message followed them. Derek shifted, wondering what on earth Scott could possibly be writing that was taking so long. Finally, somewhat anti-climactically, three simple words appeared.

 _Does he know?_

 _Know what?_

 _That you're still in love with him._

Dread ballooned in his stomach. He hadn't known anyone else was aware that his feelings for Stiles had never gone away after their failed attempt at a relationship. He was pretty sure Stiles himself had never realized just how deep those feelings had run, or how much it killed him to lose his best friend.

 _Scott, don't start. This is not even close to being the appropriate time to talk about this._

 _Of course it isn't. But if he doesn't know, and you stay there too much longer, things could go very badly for both of you. I don't want to see Stiles lose anyone else he loves, and I really, really don't want you crashing on mine and Kira's couch because being on the opposite side of the country just isn't far enough away from him._

 _Shut up, McCall. I'm not going to fuck this up. The man's wife has been dead for three weeks, I am not about to push my issues on him. Besides, I wouldn't need to crash on your couch. One of the wonderful things about being a writer is I can do it from anywhere. If this goes badly, as you put it, I can hole up in Italy or Australia or hell, even Kenya. I'll stay far away from Japan, don't worry._

 _You better. Tell him I love him and we'll come out to visit as soon as the baby is old enough to fly._

 _Will do._

Stiles' heavy footfalls upstairs caught his attention, as did the pause at the top of the staircase. Derek tossed his phone back on the table while he waited to see if Stiles would come downstairs or just collapse where he stood. After several moments of unsteady breathing where he was clearly struggling just to inhale and exhale, Stiles finally began his slow trek back down.

The defeat in his posture tore at Derek's heart. "What happened?" he asked, knowing immediately that this was not Stiles' usual day-to-day grief.

Stiles dropped heavily into the cream-colored chair that had somehow managed to avoid the destruction inherent to occupying a house with twin toddlers. "Hunter asked for Lydia," he mumbled, scrubbing the heels of his hands over his eyes, grinding them into the sockets. "And then Dom pitched in, wanting to know why his mommy wasn't coming home."

His hands dropped away and he lifted his head, allowing Derek to see the tears welling in his eyes. "How do I answer that question, Der? How do I keep answering it, every night, until they understand? And is it going to hurt worse when they stop asking, when they just accept she's gone and never coming back? How do I do this?"

Grief surged into Derek's throat and he wanted to pull Stiles to him, to slide his arms around the younger man's shoulders and hold him close and absorb his complete and total devastation. "One question at a time," he responded instead, his voice gentle. "One day at a time. One unbearable moment at a time. Until the questions are fewer, the days pass more easily, and it's not unbearable anymore. Because as much as you don't believe it, you'll get there someday."

"You're right." He barked out a harsh, mirthless laugh. "I don't believe it."

Derek chose his next words carefully. "Grief isn't a contest, and it's different for everyone. But I can tell you that I've had some experience with losing people I love, and while it never stops hurting, eventually you find a way to be happy again."

"Maybe." He sighed. "I just can't wrap my head around it. All of our years fighting the supernatural, all the times death was right on our heels, and she dies in a skiing accident. A fucking skiing accident, Derek! She didn't even want to go!"

The fury bursting out of him took Derek aback, but it wasn't surprising. He had mostly skipped grief at first and had started with pure rage when his family had been killed, but he had done the transition from one stage to the next. Stiles was finally moving past the dazed, underwater fog he'd been living in and was ready to be angry about it. That was a good thing, and Derek could handle the anger. He understood it.

"Tell me about it," he encouraged, keeping his voice neutral, and Stiles did.

"It was a work thing. They were doing this conference at a ski resort, and everyone was giving her shit for not wanting to ski. She texted me that day, saying she was going to go just to shut them up. She wasn't interested, but the partners were making her feel like she wasn't being part of the team, so she felt like she had to if she wanted her career to go anywhere with them," he railed bitterly. "The next phone call I got was from the hospital in Aspen."

He fell silent, shuddering, and Derek didn't press. He knew what had happened from John, knew that Lydia had fallen and her lung had been punctured by a tree branch. She'd developed what the doctors had called a tension pneumothorax and had died within minutes. He didn't need to hear the gory details, he just wanted Stiles to be able to get the words out that were haunting him.

"I should have told her to stand up for herself," he whispered agonizingly. "I should have told her she could find another job, at another firm. Law firms are a dime a dozen; she could have gone anywhere. But I told her if she felt like she needed to do it, to show them up. To make them feel like total assholes for doubting her. I guess she listened. She made them feel like total assholes. And now she's gone."

"I could give you all the usual platitudes," Derek acknowledged. "I could tell you this wasn't your fault, that you can't blame yourself for not telling her not to go. I could tell you it's pointless to feel guilty about it. But it's all bullshit when your head tells you it _is_ your fault, you _can_ blame yourself, and it's _not_ pointless to feel guilty."

Stiles stared at him, eyes welling up again. "Don't leave, Der. I need you here."

Derek's chest seized and he willed back his own tears. "I'm not going anywhere, Stiles. I promise."

Stiles heaved a relieved breath, and as his head relaxed back into the chair, his eyes drifted closed. Derek sat on the couch for a long time, listening to the sound of his breathing and watching his chest rising and falling, before finally falling asleep himself.

lllll

The ensuing weeks had an ebb-and-flow feel to them; some days Stiles would seem to be getting better, would smile a little more and be more energetic with the twins and have long conversations with Derek after the boys had gone to bed at night. On others, he would retreat back into himself and Derek found himself stepping in to care for Dominic and Hunter. Fortunately he'd spent a lot of time with them when they were younger, and though it had been a couple years, they remembered him well.

He'd actually seen them more often than he'd seen Stiles. There was the time Lydia had brought the twins to see her father in New Jersey, not long before he'd passed from a heart attack, and he'd had the time available to take a couple days and go see them. Stiles had had to stay home because his father was sick and he was needed to run the sheriff's office. Another time had him coming out to Beacon Hills for a surprise visit, only when he arrived he found out Stiles was out of town on business for the department. He'd had to swallow his disappointment both times at not being able to see his friend, but he'd fussed and fawned over Dominic and Hunter to make up for it.

He was never quite sure where he stood with Lydia. She was aware of their short-lived relationship and had never had any outward animosity toward him, but he'd always wondered if she considered him a threat, or if she disliked him spending so much time around Stiles. They'd been on good terms, friendly even, but she was more reserved than he'd ever known her to be. So he'd eventually bowed out of their lives, using her as an excuse at the time but willing to admit to himself later on that it was because it hurt to spend time with them as a family.

As it was, he'd been in the Stilinski house so long that the first time his editor called and demanded he come back to New York for an in-person meeting with the publishing team, it was traumatic for all of them. He told Stiles as soon as he got off the phone, and the other man's face had gone pale.

"How long will you be gone?"

"I don't know," he replied honestly. "A couple days, probably. A week if Melania has her way. She's mad that I haven't come home yet and she'll probably try to convince me not to come back here."

"You will, won't you?"

The anxiety in Stiles' voice ripped into him and Derek gripped his shoulder reassuringly. "Of course I will. I promised to be here for as long as you need me."

Stiles relaxed, nodding a little. "The boys are going to take it really hard."

"I'll come back, I swear." He thought of something but hesitated to offer it up. Stiles caught the indecision on his face and tilted his head questioningly, so Derek exhaled and spoke before he could change his mind. "The three of you could come with me."

An indecipherable look crossed Stiles' face before he shook his head reluctantly. "Dom and Hunter have school. And I need to get back to the station. I've been out for almost two months."

"I think your father would understand if you took another week off," Derek replied quietly, but he didn't want to push the issue. "The offer is open, but I have to leave tomorrow."

Stiles sighed. "I appreciate it, Der, but I don't think it's a good idea right now," he said ruefully. "Maybe the next time your editor gets pushy, things will have settled enough that a vacation would be in order."

Derek's heart leaped at the thought of being with them long enough that Melania would need to insist on another face-to-face, but he kept his expression neutral as he nodded. "Sounds like a plan," he said easily.

Telling the twins was a lot tougher. Hunter's face fell and Dominic all but had a temper tantrum when they realized their adored Uncle Derek was leaving. He couldn't seem to convince them he'd be back in a week or less, and it took an offhand comment from Stiles about it taking a plane crash to keep him from coming back to help him realize what the issue was.

Derek gathered the boys onto his lap and they snuggled against his chest. "You're afraid that I won't come back because your mom didn't," he acknowledged softly, and the stricken look Stiles cast him made his heart ache all over again. Hunter looked up at him with tear-filled eyes and Dominic's face pressed harder into his chest.

"Mommy got on a plane but never came home," Hunter whispered, his lower lip trembling, and Derek watched over the top of their heads as Stiles pressed a fist to his mouth to hold back his own tears.

He struggled with what to say to the boys. It wasn't his place to teach them about death and he didn't know how Stiles would want him to handle this, but at the moment his friend seemed incapable of stepping in, so he decided to give it his best effort. "It will take a lot to kill me," he said carefully. "You know how I'm a wolf?" The boys nodded cautiously. "Wolves, werewolves like me and Uncle Scott, are a lot stronger and heal a lot faster than other people. Your mom got hurt and she wasn't able to heal herself the way I can. You don't have to worry that the same thing will happen to me."

"Do you promise?" Dominic begged, his small fists clutching at Derek's thin T-shirt.

Helplessly, Derek looked to Stiles for assistance. Stiles released a shuddery breath and sat down beside Derek and leaned in to rub a comforting hand between Dominic's shoulder blades. "Derek can't promise you he'll never die, Dom," he explained, his voice halting and thick with emotion. "But what he's saying is that he'll always fight to come back to us. He won't let anyone take him away without doing everything he can to beat them. Right?" he asked, glancing up at Derek.

Derek's heart thudded both at Stiles' words and the anxious, pleading look on his face. "Your dad is right," he agreed, tightening his arms around the boys. "You two are my best friends in the whole world, I'm always going to come back for you."

"Hey," Stiles protested, struggling to put on a convincingly playful smile. "I thought _I_ was your best friend in the whole world."

"Can't all three of you be my best friends?" he asked, keeping his voice light. Dominic gave him a tentative smile and Hunter nodded shyly. Stiles pretended to think it over before shrugging and sighing.

"I guess so," he said, acting reluctant. "But they're the only ones I'll ever share you with, got it?"

A light feeling wormed its way into his chest and he lifted one shoulder casually. "I can live with that," he replied.

"Can Uncle Derek put us to bed tonight?" Dominic asked suddenly, and Stiles studied him for a moment before nodding. Dominic whooped and Hunter threw his arms around Derek's neck, and he lifted the two boys into his arms as he stood.

When they were both tucked into their beds, Derek sat in the low-backed armchair between them and read _If You Give a Cat a Cupcake_ for what he estimated was probably their thousandth time hearing it. As he flipped the pages and read about the cat going to the beach and the gym and the museum, he lifted his gaze just over the top of the book to see Stiles standing in the doorway. One shoulder was braced against the frame, the other hip cocked out, his feet and arms crossed as he listened to Derek recite the words the boys had long ago memorized.

They were asleep by the time he read the final sentence and slowly closed the cover, reaching behind him and sliding it back into its place in the row of books on their dresser. Stiles eased the door almost all the way shut once Derek exited the room, leaving it open only a crack to let in the glow of the nightlight in the hallway.

The two made their way downstairs quietly, settling into their usual positions-Derek on the couch, Stiles in the chair. "I don't know what I'd do without you right now," Stiles said frankly, shaking his head. "You're keeping me sane, Der. And the boys. I mean it."

"That's what I'm here for," Derek replied nonchalantly, and Stiles looked up at him in sudden worry.

"We're not keeping you from your life, are we?" he asked, the guilt evident on his face. "You've already been here for a month and I know you're planning on coming back from New York next week, but you have to be ready to go home, you must be missing your apartment and your work and New York in general, it's not like Beacon Hills is a mecca of nightlife-."

"Stiles." The sharply-spoken word cut him off mid-babble, but Derek was secretly glad to hear it; it meant the old Stiles wasn't completely gone after all. "I'm here because I want to be. I'm not leaving until you're ready for me to."

Stiles let out a rough chuckle. "You may regret saying that," he mused ruefully. "I may not ever be ready for you to leave."

"Then I'll stay," Derek replied simply. He knew it was dangerous to be so transparent, but he would do whatever it took to get Stiles through this tragedy. Even if it meant breaking his own heart, again.

lllll

Derek was still in New York when the birth announcement arrived. Stiles stared at the picture of the baby girl with almond-shaped eyes and a head full of inky-black hair, with _Mirai Annalynn McCall_ in elegant silver script on a black background. Following that text was another, a picture with Scott and Kira holding the baby between them and beaming.

His heart stuttered painfully as he recalled a similar photo, one that he and Lydia had posed for, where each of them held a baby boy in their arms as they leaned in toward each other. Their heads were nestled together and they were gazing down at their twins, in awe of their perfection. They'd chosen the picture together, each of them agreeing it was exactly what they wanted despite the fact that neither was actually looking at the camera at the time.

Stiles' first instinct was to call Derek, but he reminded himself that Derek would be back the next day. It worried him that he'd become so dependent on his friend. He knew it wasn't good for him, that Derek couldn't be a substitute for Lydia and he would need to learn how to function on his own sometime in the near future, but for right now he was okay with using the wolf as his emotional crutch.

For the time being, he put his head down on his desk and took a deep, steadying breath. He would be able to get through this. He'd gotten through every other loss in his life, somehow. _Because you had Lydia by your side_ , his brain taunted him, and he shot straight up, slamming his fists on his desk. He just couldn't seem to get away from the constant reminders.

John Stilinski stuck his head into Stiles' office with a concerned expression. "You okay, son?" he asked.

Stiles warred between giving his father a bright, fake smile and saying he was fine, and being honest. It wasn't like his dad didn't already know the answer, so neither the lie nor the truth would be a surprise. One would hurt him and the other would disappoint him. So he sighed, and shook his head, and didn't speak.

John stepped into the office and slowly shut the door behind him, the "click" of the latch catching sounding like a thunderclap in the otherwise-silent office. Crossing the room, he settled into the chair on the other side of Stiles' desk. "I haven't been there for you and the boys enough these last couple months," he said quietly, and Stiles shook his head.

"No, Dad, that's not true at all. You held everything together for me that first week. I fell apart and was completely useless, and without you I'm not sure what would have happened to the twins," he admitted painfully.

"I've just had so much going on here at work, especially without you here to help, that I haven't been able to just come spend time with you," John replied, guilt seeping into his voice.

Stiles reached over the desk and took his dad's hand in his. "You being here, pulling double-duty so that I could stay home and start to get my head on straight, was the best thing you could have done to help me," he insisted. "Derek's been at the house with us, and he helped cover things there."

John studied him for a minute, and Stiles realized with growing dread that he was going to say something that he knew Stiles wouldn't want to hear. It was probably the whole reason for the conversation in the first place. "Don't you think Derek's been here a little too long?" he asked carefully. "It's been two months and he doesn't seem inclined to leave any time soon."

"I think the boys would be heartbroken if he left," Stiles said, knowing it wasn't really an answer.

"And so would you."

He winced. "Dad, he's my best friend. He's the boys' godfather. I don't know that I would have gotten through these last couple months without him."

John sighed and Stiles waited in trepidation for the bomb to be dropped. His dad was aware of his relationship with Derek, although they had never talked about it since the two broke up. He had the feeling that they were about to do so. He wasn't wrong.

"I don't think having Derek around so much is the healthiest thing for you right now," he said finally, and the blunt words made Stiles flinch. "I remember how hard you took it when the two of you split up, and you just lost your wife, who you've been in love with for two decades. I don't want you making stupid decisions out of grief that will hurt you even more."

"Dad." He let out a long, slow breath. "Derek and I had a thing for five months, and that was eight years ago. I was blissfully married for the last seven of those years. Our romantic relationship is so far behind us that I never even think about it." _Liar_.

John nodded, relieved. "I know you two are still close. I was just afraid you might do something to put that in jeopardy. I can't watch you lose Derek on top of Lydia, too. Not to mention the boys, they would be devastated."

"Trust me, nothing is going to happen between me and Derek," he stated firmly. "I'm not ready to even think about getting involved with anyone else, and even if I was, he and I haven't thought about each other like that in almost a decade." _Lie. Er._

"I'm glad to hear it," John admitted as he stood, signaling the end of the conversation. "You've had more heartache than someone should experience in several lifetimes."

The reminder caused his shoulders to sag. For a minute he'd been so preoccupied with defending his friendship with Derek that he'd almost, kind of, sort of forgotten why the conversation was happening in the first place. "I'll survive," Stiles said, his voice strained. "Right now I'm not sure how, but I will. It's what we do."

As John headed for the door, Stiles remembered the texts. "Hey Dad, Kira had the baby. A little girl."

A smile split his dad's face. "What did they name her?"

"Mirai Annalynn McCall." It was a mouthful, but a beautiful name nonetheless.

John's brow furrowed. "Mirai? I've never heard that name before."

Stiles tried to smile. "It's Japanese. It means 'future'."

"She's next in line to head up the McCall pack, so I guess it's a pretty appropriate name." John paused. "Besides, that's exactly what kids are. Our future."

It only served to remind Stiles of what his future held, or didn't. Lydia.

lllll

By the time Derek made his way onto Stiles' street, he was exhausted and wanted nothing more than to get home. It had been a whirlwind trip and Melania had nagged him relentlessly about coming back to New York. All he would tell her is that he had obligations in Beacon Hills and he wouldn't be coming back until they were taken care of. She'd been very unhappy with him, but he wasn't budging and she finally gave in with ill grace.

Her insistence on taking him out on the town meant he'd gotten a late flight back, and he felt guilty because he'd told Stiles he'd be home earlier. He knew he'd missed the boys' bedtime and more than anything, he hated disappointing them. They needed stability and it was going to be bad enough when he returned to New York for good. Right now he was trying his hardest to help them get back into a routine in their lives so that when it _was_ time for him to go back, they could handle the minor disruption.

He was careful as he opened the front door, pushing it inward as quietly as he could. Stiles was sitting on the couch, holding a book in front of him that Derek recognized as his second one. A broad smile curved his lips as he eased the door shut behind him and put his bag down in the entryway, the slight clunking sound catching Stiles' attention and causing him to jump.

"Jesus, Derek! You scared the crap out of me," he complained, though the pleased look on his face belied any true irritation.

"Sorry," he apologized, shrugging off his jacket and hanging it up in the coat closet. "I didn't want to wake Dom and Hunter up."

Stiles rubbed a hand over his hair. "You have no idea how thrilled they're going to be when they wake up tomorrow and you're home."

The word struck him right in the chest and he realized that he'd been thinking it a lot himself lately. The entire week he'd spent in New York, he'd just wanted to come home. It scared him a little to realize just how much he was starting to think of Beacon Hills as home again. "I can't wait to see them, too," he admitted. "I missed them like crazy."

"It's going to be hard for everyone when you leave for New York for good," Stiles said, watching him closely.

"I'm trying not to think about that," Derek replied, brushing it off. "I'm still needed here. I'll go back eventually, but that's not now."

Stiles collapsed back onto the couch and gestured for Derek to join him. "How was it in New York?" he asked. "Was Melania pissed that you still decided to come back?"

Derek chuckled. "I thought she was ready to chain me to the table at the restaurant. She kept trying to remind me all about the high life I was missing out on."

"Are you?" Stiles asked quietly, and Derek tilted his head questioningly. "You're missing out on so much by being here. You chose New York for a reason, and Beacon Hills is about as far as you can get from the city."

"The Australian outback is about as far as I can get from New York City," Derek pointed out with a smirk. "Beacon Hills isn't exactly some podunk, backwoods town. And no. I'm not missing out on anything. I'm right where I want to be. As a matter of fact, New York exhausted me."

Stiles smiled, unable to hide how happy Derek's words made him, and Derek swallowed a groan. He knew he was getting in too deep and he was bound to end up devastated, just like he had been when they'd broken up. They'd managed to shift into being friends again, closer than ever, and that bond had only been strengthened over the past eight years. Despite that, or maybe because of it, Derek had never quite gotten over the younger man. He'd managed to keep the feelings buried, at least most days, but the more time he spent with the Stilinski family, the more he never wanted to leave them again.

Changing the subject, he gestured to the book Stiles still held loosely in his hand. "What made you break that out?"

Stiles glanced down at the book, flushing slightly. "I was trying to distract myself while waiting for you. The twins went to bed a couple hours ago and I didn't have anything to do." Immediately after the words left his mouth, his face went blank and he visibly began to shut down.

Derek was about to tease Stiles about missing him when he realized his friend was barely keeping it together. "Stiles," he said gently, and that was all it took.

"I don't know how to be by myself anymore," he choked out, crumbling. Derek felt helpless as Stiles collapsed in on himself, wanting desperately to pull the other man against him for comfort, and simultaneously struggling not to overstep his bounds or take advantage of the situation. "Lydia's been my other half for almost eight years, and now she's gone. You being here the past couple months has helped me keep occupied and not think about the fact that I'm alone now, but you were gone, and it hit me, and the house felt so fucking _empty_ and at night after the boys were in bed it was the worst, and I don't know how I'm going to do this when you're gone, Derek. I just… can't. I can't."

"Breathe, Stiles," he commanded, his heart clenching. More than ever he realized he needed to go home, but there was no way he'd be able to leave Stiles now. Not after that. It would be cruel. _Wouldn't it be crueler, in the end, to stay?_ his brain countered, but he ignored the inner voice. "You're stronger than you realize. You've faced and survived so much. You'll survive this. You'll learn how to be by yourself. It'll suck, but you'll adapt."

Stiles inhaled slowly, deeply, and Derek watched him closely until his shuddering had passed and he was breathing normally again. "Every day feels like a nightmare that I can't make myself wake up from," he admitted, his voice hoarse from unshed tears.

"I could make a suggestion," Derek started, and Stiles eyed him with both desperation and suspicion. "Every day, do one thing you didn't the day before. No matter how much you don't want to, no matter how much you think it will hurt, commit to doing it."

"Like what?" Stiles' voice was hesitant, as if he was afraid to hope that it might help.

Derek shrugged. "Going out to dinner. Taking the twins to a movie, or the park. Getting out and living life." He could see before Stiles even opened his mouth that he was going to balk, so he cut him off. "If you don't push yourself to get through this, you never will."

Tears sparkled in Stiles' eyes. "I don't want to," he whispered.

"I know you don't," he said gently. "But Dominic and Hunter need you to. _You_ need you to."

Stiles didn't answer, instead looking down at the book and staring at it as if it held all the answers he was looking for. Why he hadn't told Lydia not to go. Why the resort staff hadn't cleared the debris from the felled tree off of the slope. Why he was a widower at the age of twenty-eight. Derek could see those questions, and others, racing through Stiles' mind.

His fingers smoothed over the glossy cover of the book, Derek's broody face staring up at him from the back jacket. Stiles had laughed himself sick at how he'd been styled for the photo shoot, playing up the dark, moody, James Dean-esque vibe he tended to give off when he was just being a grumpy asshole. He'd laughed even harder at the pen name. "Hale Devlin?" he'd choked out, tears streaming down his face. "Jesus, Der, this could only have been worse if you went with something that sounds like it should belong to an action hero, like Nick Steele."

Derek had glared at him. "It was my editor's idea," he mumbled. "Her stupid secretary put my name down as Hale D. instead of D. Hale in her appointment book the first time we had a meeting together. She thought my name was Hale, and when I introduced myself she said, 'Nope, your name is Hale now,' and that's what she's called me ever since."

"Yeah, but _Devlin_?"

He shrugged, flushing. "She thought it sounded sexy and mysterious. She insisted the name and the book jacket would sell, even if no one knew what the book was actually about."

Stiles had admired the picture. "She's probably right," he admitted. "I mean, I sure as hell would have bought it."

Derek had shifted uncomfortably, reminded that Stiles had once looked at him like that right before jumping him. It brought to mind vivid images of Sunday mornings spent in bed, eyes gleaming with desire and long, slow kisses that turned him into a quivering mess.

The memories had an equally disconcerting effect on him now. Watching Stiles study the picture that had long been a source of amusement for him made him ache for those lighthearted moments. Unfortunately, he knew they would be slow in returning. Stiles needed to grieve and it wouldn't be a fast and easy process, not with how deeply he'd loved Lydia. "You know she wouldn't want you to live like this," Derek murmured. "It's natural to mourn her death. You've been in love with her since you were kids. She was your wife for almost a decade, your best friend, and the mother of your children. But she'd be pissed to know that you're not even trying to live, for the boys _or_ for yourself."

A long, shuddery inhale was his only answer, and Derek leaned in to place a reassuring hand on Stiles' shoulder. "Just think about it. I'm not going to push you, but you know I want what's best for all three of you."

Stiles nodded, his face showing his exhaustion as he pulled himself to his feet. "Thanks, Der," he mumbled. "I know I need to. I'm just… I'm not ready yet."

"I know, Stiles," he replied softly.

His friend headed for the stairs, pausing as he placed his foot on the first tread. "You're not going to leave anytime soon, right?" he asked suddenly, and Derek shook his head.

"I'll be here until you're ready to be on your own again," he promised. "I'm not going anywhere."

He watched as Stiles exhaled in relief, nodding to himself. "Night, Derek." He started up the stairs, his steps heavy, and Derek wished more than anything that he could take his suffering away. Unfortunately, his ability to absorb pain didn't extend to the emotional kind. This time he was just going to have to stand by helplessly and watch the man he loved work through the pain on his own until he was ready to face life without Lydia.

lllll

Over the next month the four of them fell into a routine. Stiles left for work every morning and Derek got the boys ready for school, dropping them off and heading back to the house to write. He'd had to promise Melania he wouldn't fall behind on his next manuscript, which was due in six months, under penalty of her flying to California and dragging him back to New York by whatever appendage she could get her hands on.

Stiles came home for lunch when he could, and he always breathed a little easier to see Derek puttering around in the kitchen or hunched over his laptop at the dining room table. He wouldn't admit it to anyone, least of all himself, but deep down he was always afraid he'd come home to find Derek packing to go back to New York. He realized his dependence on his friend's presence had gone past what was normal and understandable, but the thought of facing life on his own was so incredibly overwhelming that he had been on the verge of a panic attack more than once.

He found himself seeking reassurance periodically. Every time he opened his mouth he hated himself, wondering if he was driving Derek nuts and knowing the anxiety was a symptom of something else. It didn't stop him from pausing by the table on his way back to work, asking Derek if he'd see him at dinner, or stopping on the stairs at night before heading up to bed to make sure Derek hadn't gotten a summons from his editor.

To his friend's credit, he never blew up or acted frustrated in any way at the near-constant desperate need to have his mind set at ease. He simply smiled, shook his head, and promised he had no intention of leaving. There was always a variation of, "I'm where I want to be," "I'll be here until you don't need me anymore," and, the one that always made the anxiety in his chest loosen and relax the most, "I'm not going to leave you to deal with this alone."

In some ways it felt like things were getting a little bit better. Derek had had to coax him the first couple weeks to get out and do things, to walk to the park with him and the twins after he got off work, or to go out with them for ice cream after dinner. At first Stiles had deferred, not ready to participate in "fun" activities. It was hard enough getting up and going to work every day. Eventually Dominic's and Hunter's pleading, puppy-dog-eyed, quivering-lipped faces broke down his defenses, and he couldn't help but smile when they cheered as soon as he agreed to go on the picnic Derek had planned one Saturday afternoon.

After they'd finished eating the chicken and biscuits and corn on the cob, and the twins were chasing each other through the playground equipment, Derek and Stiles found themselves sitting quietly on the blanket and watching them indulgently. The silence was comforting, not oppressive, until Derek took a deep breath and Stiles froze. There was no way this was going to be good.

"I think you should consider seeing a grief counselor," he began, his voice soft, and Stiles immediately went on the defensive.

"I don't need to see a counselor," he protested, anger creeping into his voice at the suggestion.

Derek sighed, and it was obvious he was prepared for a fight. "I think you do. I promised you I'd be here until you didn't need me anymore, and I'm not going back on that promise. But it feels like you need me now more than ever. I've been here for three months and your anxiety is through the roof."

"I'm fine!" he grumbled. "I have moments, sure. Who wouldn't?"

"Stiles." The gentle reprimand took the wind out of his sails and he fell forward, his shoulders hunching in defeat. "You apparently keep forgetting that I'm a werewolf. I can feel your tension before you even walk in the door."

Stiles stared at his hands for several moments, balling them into fists and clenching tightly before releasing and flexing, watching them spread out. "I'm scared as hell of being on my own, Der," he mumbled. "Of being their sole parent. I won't be enough. Lydia was fantastic with them, y'know? She seemed to have this infinite supply of patience, and every day when she came home she just lit up when they'd come running at her with school papers and stories and all that _energy_. Most days when I get home I'm so exhausted that they overwhelm me. I don't want to disappoint them. I don't want them to grow up feeling like their father is a failure at raising them."

Derek stared at him for a moment and Stiles tensed, waiting for some condemnation or criticism or worse, agreement. "I can't believe you would ever think you won't be enough for those boys," he said, shaking his head in frustration. "They adore you. Maybe you don't see or feel it because you're exhausted and overwhelmed, but _you_ light up when you get home and they come running at you. They talk about you all day every day. Dominic and Hunter think you hung the damn moon. You can doubt a lot of things, but don't ever doubt that your sons will feel like the luckiest kids on the planet because you're their dad."

Tears sprang to Stiles' eyes and he had trouble swallowing. "Thanks." He wanted to say so many other things, but for once, words failed him. It didn't seem to matter. Derek fell silent as he resumed watching the twins shriek with laughter, practically throwing themselves down the slide. "I don't need to see a grief counselor, Derek. I just need to stop being afraid of breathing on my own again."

Derek didn't say anything, but his hand found Stiles' on the blanket and covered it, fingers curling over the edge of his palm and squeezing briefly before withdrawing. He kept his eyes on the twins and Stiles glanced over at him, feeling his chest lighten. He took a deep breath, then another, and smiled.

lllll

It was the end of June when Derek talked Stiles into going out for dinner and ice cream with Dominic and Hunter. He'd been in the Stilinski house for just shy of four months and as far as Stiles was concerned, he could stay forever. The grief wasn't quite as raw as it had been and he was starting to feel like he would be able to get his feet back underneath him, at least someday, but in the meantime he was content to let his best friend run his life.

Derek whispered to the boys and sent them upstairs to get ready, then rummaged in the coat closet until he found Stiles' old Mets cap and settled it decisively on his head. Stiles's eyes lifted to look at the brim from the underside, then lowered to gaze at Derek questioningly.

"We're going out tonight. All four of us."

Stiles immediately wanted to protest, but the no-nonsense stare Derek leveled at him had the protest dying on his lips before he could speak the first word. "Where?" he asked, sighing.

Derek moved around him toward the kitchen, grabbing his wallet and keys off the counter. "El Diablo's. Dominic was begging for Mexican earlier, and I can't cook it worth a damn. I promised them we'd go, and _then_ I watched them struggle with whether we should go to the restaurant they're dying to eat at, or if we should stay home so they could have dinner with their dad."

He flinched, knowing that he'd been emotionally absent from their lives and it was time to start stepping up. "They're doing okay, aren't they?" he asked, hating that he had to ask Derek instead of knowing himself.

Derek considered the question as the boys thundered around upstairs, the sound of one of them apparently falling off the bed drawing both of their attention. They paused until giggles erupted and then Derek looked back at Stiles. "Kids are resilient, Stiles," he said finally. "They're okay most of the time, but of course they still miss their mom. Hunter cries some days after school and Dominic will suddenly get very quiet and look down at the floor and not talk to me. They haven't forgotten her, and they still need their mother."

"Why didn't you tell me?" Stiles whispered, pain squeezing his heart. His children were grieving alone. He'd thought they were okay, that they were too young to feel Lydia's loss as keenly as he did. Apparently he'd been wrong.

"You've had so much to deal with on your own," Derek replied hesitantly. "I know you've been struggling. I wanted to keep one more stress off your plate."

Stiles rolled his lips inward, biting down on them to keep from snapping at Derek. He knew the wolf had been trying to make things better for him, had given up his entire life to come be a glorified manny and take care of his kids and his house and _him_. But they were _his_ kids and he should have been told. He should have _known_ they hadn't just gotten over it.

He _should_ have known, but he hadn't.

"Why didn't _they_ tell me?" he asked quietly, and the look on Derek's face tore at him. "They didn't think they could, did they?"

Derek sighed. "The idea of their pain making you even sadder than you already are terrifies them. I've told them you would want to know, that you're their father and you _should_ know, but they thought otherwise."

"They asked you not to tell me, didn't they?" he realized intuitively.

"They begged me not to, and I promised I wouldn't say anything unless you asked." Derek's eyes searched his. "I'm sorry I couldn't tell you."

Stiles shook his head, sighing. "I should have seen it on my own," he admitted. "I shouldn't have to find out how my sons feel about their mother's death from _you_."

Derek smirked. "I'll try not to take that personally," he retorted, bringing a lighter tone to the conversation.

Stiles started to respond, but the twins came barreling out of their room at that moment and he shut his mouth, not wanting to say anything in front of them. As of this moment, he just wanted to give them the emotional support they needed from him and hadn't gotten.

He made an effort to be completely present at dinner. When thoughts of Lydia threatened to overwhelm him he'd turn to Hunter and ask what his newest favorite thing to draw was, or to Dominic and inquire into how soccer practice with Uncle Derek was going. They chattered at him the whole dinner, and every once in awhile he'd look up and catch Derek's eye and realize the older man was just sitting back, watching, and smiling.

Toward the end of the meal, Hunter looked at Stiles and suddenly blurted out, "Daddy, I missed you," and he felt like he'd taken a knife to the stomach. "I miss Mommy, too, but it's worse missing you because you're still here."

Stiles glanced at Derek, knowing the stricken look on the other man's face mirrored the one on his own. "I haven't been doing so well since your mom died," he confessed, his voice hitching. "I spent all my time thinking about how much I was hurting because I missed her, and I didn't notice you were still hurting too."

Dominic picked at the last little bit of his spicy chicken chimichanga, looking down at his plate without making eye contact with his father. Derek leaned over and nudged him with his shoulder. "You doing okay, Dom?" he murmured, and the little boy shook his head. "Why don't you tell us what's wrong?"

He glanced up at Stiles, worry creasing his features. "I don't want Daddy to get upset," he whispered.

Stiles' heart ached. "I won't be upset with you," he promised fiercely. "I want you to be able to tell me anything."

"I forget sometimes," his son admitted. "I forget what it was like when Mommy was alive." Hunter nodded, agreeing with his twin.

He froze in his seat. It had only been four months. How could they be forgetting her already? His heart started beating faster, feeling like he was failing Lydia as well as his children by not having tried harder to keep her alive for them.

"Stiles." Derek's voice was low, gentle. Stiles looked up and met the wolf's reassuring gaze, realizing that his sensitive ears had picked up on his rapid heartbeat. He directed his next words to the boys, giving Stiles an opportunity to regroup and get his thoughts in order. "When we lose people we love, we feel sad for awhile. We miss them. But we get used to what our new life is like and even though we remember the person we lost, it gets easier to do things without being sad all the time."

Stiles stared at Derek, recognizing that he was speaking from his own experience. Why hadn't he remembered what Derek had suffered through? His friend was probably the best person to help the twins deal with their grief. "Uncle Derek is right," he agreed, though his voice was hollow and tinged with pain. "Mommy wouldn't want you to be sad forever. She would want you to be happy every day."

Both boys fell silent and Stiles felt helpless. He knew the words weren't nearly as reassuring as he meant for them to be, but he didn't know what else he could say to help his sons.

Derek came to his rescue, as he so often did. "I think it's time to get out of here," he said firmly, reaching into his back pocket and pulling out his wallet. He left several bills on the table and stood, gesturing for Stiles and the boys to do the same. "Let's go for a walk. There's an ice cream shop two blocks over that I seem to remember you two have been wanting to go to for at _least_ a week."

As they trooped out of the restaurant, Stiles felt a small hand sneak into his. He looked down to see Hunter gazing up at him anxiously, and he took a deep breath. "We'll be okay," he whispered to his youngest son. "I don't know when, but we will be. I promise."

Hunter leaned his head against his father's arm and nodded. "I know, Daddy. You always make everything better."

The pure faith in the little boy's voice touched Stiles deeply, and he scooped his son up into his arms, causing him to giggle. Derek glanced back, Dominic's hand in his, and a warm smile curved his lips. Stiles couldn't help but smile in return.

lllll

"Hey there, Derek."

Derek looked up from the OSHA poster tacked on the department's corkboard to find Sheriff Stilinski studying him. "Sheriff," he replied, nodding his head in acknowledgement. He was still a little uncomfortable around Stiles' father; he'd seen the man more times than he could remember over the last four and a half months, but almost never on a one-on-one basis. Generally it was when he came over for dinner or stopped by to drop off paperwork for Stiles.

"Please, Derek, I've told you a dozen times to call me John. So what brings you by today?"

He gestured at Stiles, who he could see through the window of his office. "Stiles and I decided to go grab lunch. I needed to get out of the house and away from my damn laptop."

John chuckled. "The book still isn't cooperating, is it?"

Derek rolled his eyes. "My editor is going to have my head. At this rate I'll miss my deadline."

John clapped him on the shoulder. "You'll be fine. You always are." He glanced into the office, watching as Stiles typed furiously, trying to finish up his report on the domestic disturbance call he'd taken earlier that morning. "Speaking of being fine…"

He followed John's gaze, noting that Stiles was displaying more energy than he'd seen in awhile. "Is he doing okay?"

"You know, it's hard to tell," John admitted with a sigh. He rubbed the back of his neck, a gesture familiar to Derek since Stiles did the same thing on a frequent basis. "It's easier when he's busy because he doesn't have time to think. When it's slow, though, sometimes he'll just sit and stare at nothing. Other times he'll talk to the other deputies and it's almost like he doesn't remember, at least for a few minutes at a time." He paused. "It really does feel like he's getting better, though, and he owes that to you."

"Of course he doesn't," Derek protested. "He'll get there with or without me. That's the nature of grief. If it doesn't kill you, you learn how to get through it. Those are your only two options."

John shook his head. "You know Stiles as well as I do," he reminded him. "He'd still be deep in misery if you weren't there to bring him out of it." He rubbed at the back of his neck again, a clear indication he was uncomfortable with whatever he was about to say, and Derek tensed. "I don't know if he told you, but I wasn't thrilled about you staying so long at first. I thought it was going to hurt him more than help. I'm not afraid to admit when I'm wrong, and I was wrong about this. Thank you for being here for him, Derek. Thank you for staying. He needed you more than I realized."

Derek's throat tightened and he struggled to find the words to reply, but he was saved by Stiles emerging from his office and shutting the door firmly behind him. "I thought I was never going to finish that damn report," he grumbled. "I'm starving. Der, you ready?"

He nodded quickly, casting a half-hearted smile at the Sheriff as he followed Stiles out of the office. Once they'd stepped out the front door, he allowed himself to breathe a small sigh of relief. Stiles looked at him in amusement.

"My dad still makes you nervous, doesn't he?"

"He just gives me more credit than I deserve," he muttered. At Stiles' curious look, he shook his head. "Never mind. Where do you want to go for lunch?"

Stiles considered for a moment. "Corcoran's," he replied decisively. "A French dip sounds really good right now."

Derek groaned. "You read my mind." The deli was one of his favorite places and the one he'd missed the most while in New York, despite the abundance of excellent delis there. "I haven't had their au jus in months."

It was only a few minute walk from the sheriff's office and Derek listened as Stiles rattled on about the case he'd caught that morning. Half of him was focused on the words so he could follow the story, and the other half marveled at how animated his friend was. It gave him hope that maybe Stiles was truly recovering from his loss.

"So this moron finally decides he's had enough of pretending not to be a violent, drunken asshole, and he just takes a swing at me. I ducked and the force behind his punch spun him around, and he ended up tripping over his own damn feet and falling into the TV, knocking it off the wall and shattering it. It was awful, Der. This beautiful fifty-five inch flatscreen was a mangled mess, and the wife starts yelling at _me_ because now she can't watch her freaking soap operas." He wiped a hand over his face, shaking his head. "It's a good thing I love my job, because the people can really suck."

Derek made a noise of agreement as they settled into a table, waiting for their sandwiches to be delivered. Stiles continued to describe the diatribe he'd been on the receiving end of, though he was interrupted by an enthusiastic voice.

"Hey, Stilinski!"

He turned around as Stiles stood, accepting the arms being thrown around him by an attractive, dark-haired man about his age. Derek studied him, trying to place the voice, the face, and the scent, all of which were familiar. Recognition dawned at the same time the brunette smiled at him, winked, and said, "Hi, Miguel. It's been a long time."

"Twelve years," he acknowledged, shooting Stiles an annoyed smirk. The arrival of Danny Mahealani brought back memories of when Stiles had been a serious pain in his ass. Being manipulated into providing eye candy for Danny to get him to help Stiles was not one of Stiles' finer moments in their relationship. Then again, most of the moments in their early relationship weren't fine ones. It had taken quite awhile for them to grow into being more than acquaintances who aggravated the shit out of each other.

He could see the confusion on Stiles' face as looked first at Derek, then at Danny, then back to Derek. "Miguel?" he echoed, and Derek rolled his eyes at him, waiting for realization to set in. He could see the instant the light dawned on Stiles, but the younger man's reaction was completely unexpected.

A slow smile spread over his face before he burst into laughter. Derek's jaw nearly dropped as he watched Stiles double over, clutching his stomach and laughing until tears streamed down his face. It was one of the most beautiful things he'd ever seen, and he had to fight tears of his own, although for an entirely different reason.

"Oh my God!" Stiles gasped, straightening and wiping away the tears that were still leaking from his eyes. "I had completely forgotten about that! I was such an asshole!"

"You won't get an argument from me," Derek replied mildly, though he couldn't help grinning. Stiles' reaction had put him in such a wonderful mood that he couldn't even pretend to be annoyed anymore.

Danny chuckled. "You weren't even slick about it," he teased Stiles. "I knew exactly what you were doing, but one look at this guy's abs and I didn't give a rat's ass that you were shamelessly manipulating me."

Stiles nodded agreeably. "Tell me about it. There were a lot of things I'd do for another glimpse of this guy's abs," he added, his tone almost cheerful.

Confusion dawned on Danny's face and Derek tensed, knowing even before he opened his mouth that this was going to go badly. "So, wait. You two are together? I didn't know you were gay, Stilinski. Although now that I think about it, I'm really not surprised."

Stiles paled, and Derek bit back a curse. "Uh, no. I mean, there was a time we were, but that was years ago. I, uh, I actually married Lydia."

"Lydia Martin?" Stiles nodded, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed hard. "I thought she die-." Danny's eyes got round. "Oh God, Stiles. I'm so sorry." He hugged Stiles again, this time as a gesture of comfort instead of his earlier bro-hug. Derek watched helplessly, feeling Stiles' shallow, strained breaths as if they were his own.

"I take it you haven't been around Beacon Hills much," Derek said, cutting in and distracting Stiles.

Danny shook his head, chagrined. "Nah, I moved out to Miami with my boyfriend right after graduation. I just got divorced and my mom insisted I come back, get out of Florida for awhile." He cast an apologetic glance at Stiles. "She'd told me about Lydia, but not that you guys were married. I'm really sorry for your loss."

Stiles nodded, unable to say anything, and Derek took the opportunity to redirect the conversation again. "It was good to see you," he said, even though they all knew it wasn't exactly the truth. "Maybe we'll see you again before you leave." It was clearly a dismissal, but Danny didn't seem to mind. He squeezed Stiles' shoulder, nodded at Derek, murmured goodbye, and made his way to the order counter.

Derek watched helplessly as Stiles sank back into his seat, shaken by the encounter. Their food arrived, but Stiles just stared at his sandwich, not even attempting to take a bite. Derek sighed, stood, and headed back to the counter to request two to-go boxes.

Danny was just finishing paying for his order and he gave Derek an apologetic look. "I'm so sorry," he said, his voice low. "I didn't mean to bring it up."

"It's not your fault," Derek reassured him. "It's been almost five months. He's only just now starting to come out of it, so it's not hard to trigger a relapse."

"Still, I feel like shit." He glanced over at where Stiles was sitting, still not touching his food. "I can't even imagine what he's feeling. My divorce was bad enough, but at least my husband didn't die." He shook his head. "Tell him again how sorry I am."

"I will." He watched Danny thread through the tables and take a seat on the other side of the restaurant before heading back over to where Stiles sat. "You ready to head back to the office?"

Stiles nodded silently, so Derek scooped their sandwiches into the boxes and followed him out the door. His heart ached. He'd been in the Stilinski home for four and a half months, and he was no closer to figuring out how to help Stiles than he was the day he'd gotten the call about Lydia's accident. He wasn't sure he'd ever know how to help his friend.

lllll

When Stiles got home one night after work, two weeks after the encounter with Danny, he walked in on Derek stirring homemade Alfredo sauce at the kitchen stove while a pan of shrimp was sautéing on the back burner. His head was tilted, trapping his cell phone between his left shoulder and ear while he wiped one hand over the towel he'd tossed on the counter.

"No, that sounds great. Anytime before three. Yeah, okay, one-thirty works. Okay. See you tomorrow, Logan." He reached up with his right hand, disconnecting the call and tossing the phone on the counter before sticking the tip of his thumb in his mouth and sucking off a splatter of sauce.

"You're making plans?" Stiles asked casually, dropping his wallet and keys on the counter beside Derek's phone. "I thought you were a hermit when you weren't with me or the boys."

Derek turned, smiling at him. "Usually," he agreed cheerfully. Stiles studied him, not having seen his friend in this good of a mood in as long as he could remember. When Derek didn't seem inclined to say anything more, Stiles pushed forward tentatively.

"What are you doing?" he asked, trying to keep his question from coming across as prying.

"Meeting a friend," Derek said with a shrug. "Don't worry, I'll be home in time to get the boys from daycare and still have dinner ready when you get home." He gestured to the stove. "Come here, taste this."

Stiles dutifully complied, not liking the twinge in his chest at the idea that Derek was branching out of his house. He felt horrible for being jealous that Derek had another friend besides himself; it was unreasonable to think the wolf would remain isolated from all other people besides the Stilinski family. At the same time, Stiles had become so dependent on him that the idea of Derek moving on and wanting to spend time with other people, maybe finding a relationship and wanting to get back to his own life, filled him with complete dread. He barely tasted the sauce Derek spooned into his mouth, giving a perfunctory nod and escaping from the kitchen as soon as he could.

"Daddy!" Dominic cried when Stiles entered the living room. He flopped down on the couch beside his older son, feeling aged beyond his twenty-eight years. Dominic crawled into his lap and laid his head on Stiles' chest; his arms came up and wrapped around the five-year-old, his eyes falling closed as he reveled in the moment of connection with his son. "Did you see what Uncle Derek is making for dinner?"

"I did," Stiles acknowledged. "Fettucini Alfredo with shrimp, your favorite." He glanced around. "Where's your brother?"

Dominic looked sad. "Upstairs. Drawing."

Stiles wasn't sure why that would upset Dominic, so he approached his next question cautiously. "What's he drawing?"

His son wouldn't meet his eyes, and he felt a hollow pit growing in his stomach. "Mommy."

"Oh." He breathed the word out, barely audible, and Dominic stared at him anxiously.

"Are you mad?" he asked worriedly.

Stiles clutched his son to him, tears welling in his eyes, but he refused to let them fall. "Never," he whispered fiercely. "I want you both to be able to do whatever you need to in order to remember your mother and keep her close to you. Just because she's gone doesn't mean you can't think about her, and miss her."

"Like Uncle Derek does with his family?" They knew the basics of what had happened to the Hale family, that they'd died in a house fire and Derek had been orphaned at a young age, growing up essentially on his own.

Stiles nodded. "You know Uncle Derek would be a great person to talk to when you miss Mommy and feel sad, right? He knows what you and Hunter are going through."

He felt Dominic nodding against his chest. "But Uncle Derek gets so sad when we talk about it, too. Like he gets when he looks at you and you're being quiet and not saying anything to anyone."

The breath felt trapped in his chest. "Uncle Derek loves us, kiddo. He knows he can't take our pain away and that's what hurts _him_. But he'll always be here for us." That was the one unwavering, unquestionable truth in his life, and he was grateful that he didn't have to think twice about Derek's loyalty to his family.

"Dinner's ready!" Derek called just then, and Stiles patted Dominic's leg.

"Go wash up and head for the table," he instructed, standing up as Dominic scooted off of his lap. "And grab your brother and tell him to do the same."

When Stiles walked into the dining room, his heart lurched. He couldn't count the number of times he'd walked into this room and found an amazing dinner on the table and Derek setting out silverware, putting water glasses at each of the plates, taking care of his family as if he'd always been doing it. A sudden burst of love for his friend overwhelmed him and he found himself walking over to Derek and throwing his arms around the other man.

Derek stiffened in surprise before relaxing into the embrace and returning it, and Stiles held him tightly for another few moments before pulling back. "I can't ever repay you for everything you've done for my family," he said quietly, and Derek flushed.

"I don't expect repayment," he replied, his voice soft. "I love you guys. This is what I can do to help, and I'm happy to do it."

"You've saved me," Stiles said simply, and Derek's face took on a tender expression.

"The feeling is mutual," he replied, clearing his throat as the twins bounded into the dining room. "Hey, you two. We have a ton of food so I expect you to eat, like, at least half your body weight, okay?"

Dominic and Hunter both giggled and Stiles' chest tightened. He hadn't been exaggerating; they would have been lost if Derek hadn't come back into their lives. So when he settled into his seat and began dishing up the pasta and shrimp, he allowed the light-hearted atmosphere to take root. The grief of the past few months uncoiled slightly, and he breathed easier.

Dinner sped by, and afterward he cleaned the kitchen as he always did, allowing Derek to pick out a movie with the boys and get it set up. "Hey Stiles, get your a-, I mean, butt in here!" he hollered from the family room. "Dom and Hunter decided it's a Star Wars night!"

Stiles dried his hands on the towel as he stepped into the doorway, looking through the dining room to the family room where the boys were settling onto the floor with pillows and blankets. "You are proof that I have succeeded as a parent," he said, pretending to wipe a proud tear from the corner of his eye. "I'll be right there."

He started the dishwasher and made his way into the room, sinking down onto the couch beside Derek and losing himself in the familiar scenes of his favorite movie. Periodically he snuck a glance at Derek out of the corner of his eye, relief spreading through him when he recognized the same contentment in the other man that he was experiencing himself. For the first time since Lydia's death, he truly felt at ease. It scared him, made him uncomfortable, and also brought him hope. Derek had promised him it would get better. He was starting to feel like he'd been right.

The twins fell asleep long before the end credits rolled, and when Derek pushed the power button on the remote to turn off the TV, it was almost eerily quiet. The sound of the boys' even breathing from the floor was the only sound in the room for several minutes, until Stiles got brave enough to ask the question that had been on his mind since he'd walked in the door.

"Who's Logan?"

Derek looked up, startled. "Why do you ask?" he asked, affecting a neutral tone. Stiles' eyes narrowed.

"Because I've never heard you mention him before, _ever_ , and now you're randomly meeting up with him," he replied suspiciously. "Should I be worried? Do I need to pull the over-protective best friend card and ask him what his intentions are with you? He's not a bad influence, is he?"

Chuckling, Derek shook his head, a fond smile spreading across his face. "Nothing like that. He's a friend of a friend, someone I knew in New York."

"Oh." He could feel his face falling and mentally cursed himself.

"You okay?" Derek asked, the smile fading until his handsome face was twisted in concern.

Stiles shrugged uncomfortably. "I just kind of forgot for a little bit that you have a life that doesn't have anything to do with us," he admitted, coloring slightly. "It feels weird to know you have friends I don't know."

Derek scoffed. "Logan isn't _my_ friend. He's Melania's brother's best friend. Sean suggested I call him."

"So, Melania's brother likes playing matchmaker?" He strove for a light tone and knew he was failing.

Derek's incredulous bark of laughter surprised him, and he immediately glanced down at the boys to make sure it hadn't woken them up. Hunter shifted and murmured in his sleep, then settled back into his pillow and quieted again. "This isn't a _date_ , Stiles," he protested with a snort of disbelief. "When was the last time I dated a guy?"

 _You mean besides me?_ Stiles wanted to retort, but he bit his tongue. Derek's lack of male relationships had never been lost on him, although he didn't like to think about what it meant. "I guess I thought maybe…"

"Maybe what?" Derek countered, amused. "I'd let Melania's brother set me up on a blind date?"

"Then what is it? If you don't actually know the guy, why meet up? You're not the, 'Sure, I'll get a cup of coffee with a random stranger just because we have a mutual friend' type."

Derek rolled his eyes. "You're not going to let this go, are you?" Stiles shook his head silently, and he could see indecision warring on his friend's face. Finally he sighed. "Logan is a realtor."

Stiles' stomach plummeted. "Did you finally decide you were tired of renting?"

"Yeah." Derek watched him carefully. "Logan is going to help me buy a house."

"When do you go back?" Stiles was proud of himself; his voice didn't shake even a little bit, though on the inside he was trembling.

Derek frowned, his eyebrows drawing together. "What do you mean?"

"When are you going back to New York? Or are you going to Brooklyn? I know houses aren't really a thing in Manhattan, although I'm sure you could afford your own brownstone or something."

The expression on Derek's face smoothed from confusion to understanding, to amusement. "Stiles." He waited until Stiles lifted his gaze from his lap to meet Derek's eyes. "I'm not going back to New York. My appointment tomorrow is to go see a house with Logan. Here."

"In Beacon Hills?" Stiles clarified, his heart beating rapidly.

"Yeah. This place is my home. I ran away eight years ago, but it's time to come back. For good this time. The more time I spend here the harder it is to go back to New York, even for a visit."

Elation overwhelmed him, but he was afraid to trust it. "What about your editor? Won't she lose her shit?"

He made a face. "Without a doubt. But she's going to have to deal with it. I can write from anywhere, and I want to be in Beacon Hills, with my family."

His heart thudded. "Your family?"

Derek rolled his eyes. "You and the twins, dumbass. I might not be an alpha anymore, but you're still my pack."

"Don't buy a house," Stiles blurted. "Move in with us."

His friend's eyebrows shot straight into his hairline. "That's a big commitment," he objected, and Stiles flushed at his impulsiveness. "Me staying here temporarily to help out is hugely different than moving in, for real." He gestured at the sleeping twins. "I don't want them to get hurt when one or the other of us ends up in a relationship and I have to move out again."

Stiles didn't want to think about that. "I'm nowhere near ready for a relationship," he reminded Derek. "And even if you met someone, we both know you'd never let that keep you from being there for them." He refused to consider why that thought twisted his insides up. "Come on. You already live with us. Why would you buy another house when you have one?"

The play of emotions across Derek's face told a story that Stiles wasn't ready to understand. "I'll think about it," he said finally. "I'm still going to see the house with Logan tomorrow. Just in case."

"Just in case," Stiles agreed, smiling in relief. Derek wasn't going anywhere.

lllll

Derek sat back in the booth as he savored the last bite of his egg white, turkey, and spinach omelet, forgetting for a moment that he was sitting across from his editor and now that their business had been dispensed with, he was going to have to break the news to her. He knew she would be highly displeased and he was prepared to staunchly defend his decision.

"New York misses you, Hale," Melania observed, leaning into the table and watching him closely.

He shrugged, knowing the moment of reckoning had come. "It's going to have to," he responded frankly, and her eyes narrowed.

"You're not coming back, are you?" she realized, her voice flat.

"I can't, Lani," he sighed. "Beacon Hills is home now, and I'm needed there."

"You're needed _here_ ," she argued, and he shook his head.

"I can write from anywhere, you know that. As long as I keep flying out here once every couple months or so, that's all you need from me."

She glared at him. "The team is going to have a fit," she warned, and he smirked. "Seriously, Hale. You know they're going to start throwing cash and hookers and shit at you to get you to stay."

Derek rolled his eyes. "Melania. I have to go home."

"Why?" she asked bluntly. "Because your bestie has to learn how to be a single parent? Lots of people do that. Mostly crazy people, because only crazy people have kids to begin with, but still. He'll figure it out. He doesn't need you to babysit him for the rest of his life, or theirs."

His eyes flashed in warning, and since she was a smart woman, she shut up. "They need me," he said simply. "And I need them."

Melania opened her mouth to refute the statement, but then she looked at his face, really looked at it, and softened. "Oh," she breathed. "He's not just your bestie." Derek simply stared at her, and she sighed. "Tell me."

He pressed his lips together, uncertain. His story with Stiles was one that he had never told a single person. John, Lydia, Scott, and Kira knew, of course, but only because Stiles had been open with them about it. Telling Melania went against his every instinct, but she was also the closest thing he had had to a true friend in years, aside from Stiles. So he took a deep breath and started.

"We first met a dozen years ago. We did _not_ like each other," he said ruefully, chuckling fondly at the memories. "We got a little closer over the years, but it wasn't until after he graduated high school that we actually became friends."

"Wait, you were friends while he was in high school? Were you the creepy old guy who perved on the under-agers?" Melania interjected.

Derek rolled his eyes. He couldn't very well tell her the truth, so he did his best to craft a believable excuse. "I mentored Stiles' best friend, Scott," he explained. "He was going through some shit that I had experience with, so I helped him deal with it."

"Okay, acceptable. Go on," she allowed, and he snorted.

"Scott went off to college. Stiles stayed behind in Beacon Hills because he had realized that what he really wanted was to go into law enforcement like his dad, the local sheriff. He has the most brilliant crime-solving brain I've ever known of, outside of TV shows," Derek acknowledged. "So Stiles stayed, and his best friend and the woman he was in love with both took off for school. He was lost, and I was there. I was pretty much a loner, so I didn't have any friends myself."

"I'm shocked," she responded dryly. "I can't imagine you not being the life of the party."

He gave her one of his most withering stares, and she stared blandly back while she waited for him to continue. "He showed up at my door one night babbling like a lunatic. It was one of his most obnoxious, and yet strangely endearing, traits. He drove me crazy with it until I yelled at him to shut up and just come in and watch my movie with me."

"Which movie?" she broke in, and he expelled a frustrated breath.

"Lani. Stop. Interrupting."

"Which movie?"

Derek sighed. " _Star Wars_. It's both of our favorite. We bonded. Happy now?" She nodded, a gleeful smile taking over her face, and he grinned slightly in response. Despite being a total hardass, his editor loved a good romance. "We started hanging out more often. Him because he was lonely, me because it was easier than dealing with his disappointment if I told him no."

"Sure, Hale. I really believe that."

He ignored her. "We got to be best friends. Scott and Stiles were still friends, but they drifted because of the distance and the different directions their lives had taken. Stiles freaked out about that from time to time because he'd gone into their senior year insistent that things wouldn't change, they wouldn't drift and they'd always be best friends, and he hated that he'd somehow known it was going to happen anyway."

"That's life," she said with a shrug, and he shot her a look.

"I am never going to get through this story if you don't shut up," he grumbled. "Can't you go five minutes without interrupting me?"

She laughed, waving a hand as if it was the most hilarious thing he'd ever said. "Shit, Hale, _how_ long have you known me? No. I can't."

"For Stiles' twentieth birthday, we went to visit Lydia, the woman he'd been in love with for as long as he could remember," Derek continued, ignoring her. "She was at MIT and we flew out for a weekend trip. When we got back, he was really unhappy and moped around. I told him to tell me what was wrong or knock it the hell off, and he started unloading about how much he missed her and how he was worried he was never going to love anyone the way he loved her."

His tone had turned bitter and Melania could detect it. Her eyes softened and her mouth twisted in sympathy. "Ouch."

This was the hardest moment of the whole story, the one that required the biggest leap of faith and baring of his emotional soul. "As soon as he said that, I realized that I wanted him to love _me_ the way he loved her. Somehow in the past two years this total pain in the ass had become my other half, and I couldn't imagine my life without him. So I did something incredibly stupid. I grabbed him, pulled him to me, and kissed the hell out of him."

Melania's face lit up and she clapped her hands together, and Derek couldn't help but laugh at her thoroughly girly reaction. "Please tell me you two hooked up."

"For five months," he confirmed. He wouldn't give details of their relationship; those were still sacred to him. He was pretty sure Stiles had never gone into that much detail even with his dad or Scott, though he couldn't be sure about Lydia. "It felt completely right, and I was truly happy for the first time in a decade. Then Lydia came home on summer break and she and Stiles started spending a lot of time together again."

Her face fell. "Shit."

"I got jealous. I freaked out. And when Stiles got mad at me for accusing him of slowly leaving me for Lydia, I packed up my life and flew to New York. I didn't go back for a year."

"You fucking idiot."

Derek winced. "I know. I've regretted it ever since."

"You got your friendship back, though," she pointed out.

"Eventually," he acknowledged with a sigh. "When I came back to Beacon Hills, it was for Stiles' and Lydia's wedding."

"Jesus, Hale. Are you a masochist or what?"

Derek rubbed a hand over his face. "I couldn't miss it. He'd been my best friend and I loved him. I wanted him to be happy." They fell silent for a moment before he continued. "He was so grateful I came back. We started talking again, texting and emailing a little bit at a time, then phone calls, and pretty soon we were back to our old, pre-relationship friendship. It was like those five months had faded from memory."

"His. Not yours," she surmised.

"I flew back out when the twins were born, and Stiles had convinced Lydia to make me their godfather. I spent the first three years coming out once every month or two to spend time with them, but eventually I realized that Lydia never seemed entirely happy to have me there. I never asked, I just decided to bow out of their lives. Stiles and I kept in touch, but I didn't see him again until Lydia's funeral."

"Fucking idiot," she repeated, and he shrugged.

"Probably."

Melania studied him. "Go back to Beacon Hills. Make him fall in love with you again. But don't you fucking dare let him turn you into a replacement for his wife. You deserve better than that, Hale."

Derek chuckled. "Thanks for the pep talk, Lani. I'm going to miss you."

"Yeah, well, I'll be too busy to miss your dumb ass," she sniffed, and he knew without a doubt that she didn't mean even a word of it. "Besides, you'll be back once every other month or so. It's not like I'll never see you again. And I expect an invitation to the wedding for being so gracious in giving you up."

"I'm not going to push him," he said quietly. "He just lost the love of his life and I'd be the worst kind of asshole to make a move anyway."

She waved a hand dismissively. "He lost one love of his life. He just doesn't know he's already found the other. Wedding invitation. I mean it."

Melania stood and he followed, pulling her in for a brief hug. "I'll see you in a couple months."

"Damn straight you will," she retorted, dropping a hundred-dollar bill on the table to cover their brunch.

He followed her out of the restaurant and got her situated in a cab, lifting his hand in a gesture of farewell as it drove off, despite knowing she wouldn't be looking back. Sticking his hands in his pockets, he looked up at the skyscrapers surrounding him. A sense of peace washed over him. This wasn't home, and it was time for him to go back to the only place that ever would be.

lllll

Stiles would be lying if he said he didn't feel a weight lift from his shoulders when Derek eased the door open, his handsome face weary and yet at peace. There'd been the slight fear all week that Melania would refuse to let go of her prized author and Derek would be banned from coming back to Beacon Hills ever again. It was a ridiculous worry, he knew, but he was so afraid of losing anyone else.

"Hey, Stiles," Derek said, the fatigue in his voice combated by the happy, tired smile he cast his friend's way. "It's good to be home again."

"You say that every time you come back from New York," Stiles observed, unable to keep the smile off his own face. "I like hearing it."

He yawned as he set his suitcase down and shut the door behind him. "I like saying it. It's nice to feel like I'm actually at home for once. I lived in New York for seven years and never really felt like I was."

Stiles bit his tongue to halt the question that leaped to it, having learned over the previous years that sometimes, silencing his runaway mouth was a necessity. It didn't matter. Derek knew him so well that he paused on his way into the living room, eyeing Stiles suspiciously.

"What?"

There was no heat to the word, only amusement, and Stiles smirked. After all these years, Derek could take one look at his face and just _know_. He cleared his throat. "I, uh, just wondered why you went there in the first place."

Derek blanched. "Jesus, Stiles. That's a whole shitstorm of a conversation I'm not prepared to have two feet inside the front door."

Stiles chuckled, recognizing the truth in the words. "Yeah, I probably shouldn't have dropped that on you first thing. Let me try again. 'Hi honey, how was your day? Can I get you a drink?' Is that better?"

"You're missing the pearls and heels," Derek returned, deadpan, and Stiles rolled his eyes.

"To give me a little bit of credit, I _didn't_ immediately say what I was thinking," he pointed out, settling back into the couch as Derek came around and flopped down next to him. "I wouldn't have said it at all if you hadn't asked."

"Lesson learned," Derek cracked, and Stiles shot him a wounded frown. "To answer your question, I went to New York because it was the first place I could think of where I could just get completely lost."

Stiles studied him. Derek's candor had increased with him over the years to the point that it didn't faze him that there was no reluctance in the offered explanation. There had been a time that he wouldn't have been able to pull that singular, baldly honest statement from the man's tightly-pressed lips under penalty of torture and death, which would have been preferable to the wolf over being open about his feelings. Now, however, they were so close that Derek rarely hesitated to say what he thought or felt. It was one of the reasons that their relationship had survived despite… everything.

Memories assaulted him, which he didn't often allow. His attachment to Derek had been the one sore spot in his and Lydia's marriage, so to help smooth things over, he refused to mention or even think about that period in his life. Now, however, there were no such restrictions.

"I'd ask why you felt like you needed to do that, but I don't think it really requires an answer," Stiles replied, and while his tone was mild, there was still a hint of a bite to the words.

Derek gave him a warning frown. "Stiles, I'm exhausted as hell. Can we _please_ not have this conversation right now?"

He flinched. "I didn't mean for this to become an issue. You said you never felt at home in New York, and it just made me wonder why you ever left." He shrugged, trying to make it seem like it was no big deal. "We never really talked about it."

Rubbing a hand over his face wearily, Derek considered the question. Stiles could see that he was struggling with whether to address it head-on, or ignore it to make it go away. "I couldn't stay, Stiles. I couldn't watch you and Lydia fall in love all over again." Head-on, then.

And there it was. The one thing Derek had never actually been able to be open and honest about with him. Stiles cocked his head, watching his friend intently. "You know the reason I was able to fall in love with Lydia 'all over again' is _because_ you left, right? I was broken-hearted and she was there to help me pick up the pieces."

Derek shot off the couch. "I need tequila if we're going to do this." He disappeared into the kitchen, rummaging in the cupboard above the refrigerator where they kept the alcohol. When he re-emerged the bottle was already at his lips, tipped back as he took a long, draining gulp. Stiles had seen him do the same thing many times in the past but it never ceased to stun him. The man's alcohol tolerance, courtesy of his wolf, was both legendary and alarming. "Where the hell did all this come from? This isn't just 'You said New York wasn't home', this has clearly been a long time coming."

Stiles weighed his response carefully. "I couldn't ask about it when Lydia was alive," he said finally, softly. "And right after… It wasn't the time to talk about it."

"And now is?" The words were challenging, and Stiles felt himself becoming defensive.

"It just came up, okay? I've been thinking about it, and you came home and you gave me the right opening first thing in the door, and I just said it. You know me. 'Right place and right time' has never been my strong suit."

Derek let out a snort of agreement. "So what, then? We're going to hash all this out? It was eight years ago, Stiles. I was in love with you, I could see the handwriting on the wall, and I left. I'm not particularly proud of that decision and I missed you like hell, but I knew I didn't stand a chance of keeping you with Lydia back in the picture. So I left, and I tried like crazy not to look back. You can see how well that worked."

Stiles blinked, stunned. "You were in love with me?"

Derek barked out a sharp laugh. "Stupidly so."

He could feel himself edge closer to Derek on the couch, warning bells clanging dimly in the back of his mind. This was so the wrong thing to do. It was horrible timing and he knew he wasn't ready, but _fuck_. Derek had been in _love_ with him and he never knew. Unfortunately, Derek could read his mind-and his scent, more than likely-and pulled back. Stiles let out a small sound of disappointment.

"Stiles." The word was rough, with an edge of warning. "This isn't going to happen."

"Why not?" His voice was plaintive, and he hated it the moment it left his mouth.

Derek ran a frustrated hand through his hair, his fingers making angry tunnel tracks through the thick black strands. "Because your wife died six months ago and you're not even close to being over that. Because you asked me to move in with you, and I'm beginning to think if I say yes then I'll be signing up to be your crutch for the rest of your life. And most of all, because I can't handle you using me as a distraction from your grief."

Stiles pulled back, disheartened that Derek could think so little of him. "The part about not being over Lydia, okay, I'll give you that. The rest of it? Total bullshit."

Derek glared at him in helpless frustration. "Really? Then why did you push this so hard, when I haven't even been home for a half hour?" he challenged.

"Because I fucking missed you!" Stiles burst out, shocking himself with the intensity and the _truth_ of it. "I missed _you_ while you were gone. Not Lydia. I mean, I still miss her every day. But I missed _you_ being here, making dinner and reading the twins bedtime stories and mercilessly mocking my taste in movies. I missed _you_ , Der."

The wolf stared at him for several long, agonizingly silent moments, and Stiles began to worry that being so honest maybe wasn't the smartest thing he could have done. When Derek pulled himself to his feet and aimed for the stairs, Stiles jumped up to follow, stopping short when Derek whirled on him with a look that clearly said, 'Don't.' He searched the other man's eyes, wondering if he'd ruined everything, and Derek sighed. It was a bone-deep sigh that spoke of weariness to his soul. "I think we both need to sleep on this," he said flatly. "I don't know if me being here is making things worse for you, if you're focusing on me to avoid mourning Lydia. I thought I was helping, but now I'm wondering if I made a mistake telling Melania I was leaving New York for good."

"You didn't," Stiles protested, his voice as small as he felt. Now he understood what his dad had been trying to tell him. He was definitely making stupid decisions, and he was afraid he was about to lose Derek just as the Sheriff had predicted.

Derek paused, and Stiles hated that he couldn't decipher the emotions flickering across his friend's face. "You need to really consider seeing a grief counselor," he said finally, heavily. "Because if you don't, I can't stay here and become her replacement." Stiles inhaled a sharp breath, and Derek smiled at him, a brittle twist of his lips that didn't reach his eyes. "Good night, Stiles. It's nice to be 'home'."

Stiles winced, watching as Derek disappeared into the spare room that only this weekend he'd been mentally redecorating so that it was truly _Derek's_ room and not just the guest room. As the door clicked firmly shut, he had the sinking feeling it would remain a guest room.

The silence of the house settled around him, and he felt the oppressive weight of it around his shoulders. "How the hell did that go so wrong?" he muttered to himself, fearing that the welcome home he'd been anticipating had just become a good-bye.

lllll

Derek lay in his bed, staring up at the ceiling, his chest rising and falling in time with the erratic breathing he could hear coming from Stiles' room down the hall. It had been two days and he wasn't any closer to figuring out what to do about the situation. Rolling onto his side, his gaze caught the clock on the nightstand. 1:19. The glowing red numbers taunted him, reminding him that both he and Stiles were suffering and one of them needed to fix it. Now.

With a low growl he pulled himself into a sitting position, his legs dropping to the side of the bed until his feet were planted firmly on the floor. When he got to Stiles' room he knocked lightly on the door with the back of his knuckles; Stiles' breathing ceased and Derek rolled his eyes in exasperation when there was no answer. "I'm a werewolf, you moron," he groused, just loud enough for Stiles to hear and low enough to not wake the boys up. "You know I can hear your breathing and your heartbeat and I know you're not asleep. Get your ass up."

There was another moment or two of silence in which Derek contemplated just going in anyway, but the sound of Stiles shuffling to the door halted his hand before it could wrap around the brushed-steel doorknob. By the time the door swung open, Derek had his arms crossed over his chest and was glaring at an exhausted, annoyed-looking Stiles. "What?" he mumbled, digging his index fingers into the corners of his eyes and rubbing at them as if he was trying to erase the image of Derek in front of him.

"You're mad at me because I wouldn't let you do something stupid that would ruin our friendship, and you need to knock it the fuck off," Derek snapped, and Stiles reared back, his eyes wide with shock and anger.

"You're barging into my room at one o'clock in the fucking morning and _you're_ yelling at _me_?" he hissed, his voice low in deference to the two boys sleeping not ten feet from the door where they stood.

Derek pushed his way past Stiles and pivoted, scowling. "I wasn't barging in before, but I might as well if you're going to accuse me of it."

Stiles stiffened, his back ramrod straight as he glared. "What makes you think you're welcome in my room?"

"Trust me, I know I'm not welcome here," Derek retorted bitterly, and Stiles narrowed his eyes at him.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Derek opened his mouth to shoot back a sarcastic reply, but stopped, sighing. "I'm pissed at you," he admitted, side-stepping the question that came too close to touching on a frayed nerve. "But I understand."

Furrowing his brow, Stiles relaxed a little. "Why are you pissed, and what do you understand?"

"I'm pissed that you bombarded me with… everything, pretty much the moment I walked in the door. I'm pissed that you made me out to be the bad guy for not letting you use me to forget Lydia, even for just a few minutes." His voice softened. "But I understand needing someone to take the pain away. To be _able_ to forget, even for just a few minutes."

Stiles stared at him for so long that Derek shifted uncomfortably. He had almost decided to turn around and leave when the younger man sighed. "I was stupid, and wrong, and when you so clearly pointed it out to me, I was embarrassed. You aren't the bad guy here, but I couldn't face you and act like nothing had happened. It was easier to pretend to be mad at you."

Derek's eyes drifted shut for a moment in relief before snapping back open. "You're not the bad guy either, Stiles," he reminded his friend gently. "You're going through a hell of a lot right now."

Sinking onto the bed, Stiles dropped his head into his hands and dragged his fingers through his hair. Derek sat down beside him, careful to maintain enough distance to avoid touching him. "I really did miss you," he whispered. "And it scared the shit out of me. Thinking about someone besides Lydia. Missing someone who wasn't her. I felt like the world's biggest asshole."

Something splintered in Derek's chest and it hurt to breathe. Hesitantly, he lifted a hand and placed it on Stiles' shoulder. He'd touched his friend many times in the past six months, but each time he was afraid Stiles would feel like he was pushing boundaries. The heaviness of the moment made him even more anxious, but he knew Stiles needed comforting in a way that a verbal "there, there" wouldn't cover.

"You're not an asshole," he said quietly. "Far from it." Stiles didn't reply and Derek considered his next words carefully. "I told you before that grief isn't a contest, and everyone grieves differently. Some people move on quickly. Some never move on. Some people are able to balance the two. You're never going to forget Lydia, Stiles. You're never going to be 'over' her. But that doesn't mean you have to be afraid of being happy again, or that you're a horrible person if you are."

Before he could blink, Stiles was shifting on the bed and burying his face against Derek's chest, his arms thrown around the wolf's waist, and Derek sat in shock, his arms raised halfway as if he was going in for a hug and had thought twice about it. When Stiles' arms tightened, Derek let his own settle around his friend's shoulders and held him close, squeezing as hard as he dared.

"You always say just what I need to hear," Stiles mumbled, his words muffled against Derek's thin t-shirt, but his wolf hearing picked them up clearly.

Chuckling, Derek rubbed a hand soothingly over Stiles' upper back. "Not always," he acknowledged ruefully.

Stiles pulled back, his eyes reddened but not watery, as Derek had suspected they might be. "You do, though," he insisted. "Somehow you went from this obnoxious jerk who was always just a rude, mean-tempered asshole, into someone who always knows the right thing to say, who actually cares enough to _try_."

Derek smirked. "Good to know I warranted that many negative adjectives once upon a time." He smiled a little at Stiles' soft snort and shrugged. "Besides, that was ten years ago. People change. Is it really so surprising that I'm not the same person I was when we first met?"

"Oh, you're definitely still the same person," Stiles teased. "Don't pretend you're not still afraid to talk to people you don't know. I saw you freeze up with Danny at Corcoran's. The only reason you talked to him at all was because you were trying to steer the conversation away from Lydia."

The mention of Lydia's death made Derek pause for a moment, but when he realized Stiles wasn't tensing up or getting short of breath and there was no scent of imminent tears, he exhaled. "I didn't talk to Danny because I didn't like being reminded of being manipulated into being his eye-candy," he scoffed.

Stiles rolled his eyes. "Remember when we went to the grocery store and that old lady said something about what a nice family we had? You got all weird and stiff and did the tight-lipped barely-a-nod-of-acknowledgement thing."

"I thought you were going to freak out that someone thought the boys were mine, that we were together," Derek admitted.

Stiles gave him an odd look. "We _were_ together once," he pointed out softly. "I didn't care that people knew it then. Why would I care if they thought it now?"

They were getting back into territory that could quickly become dangerous, so Derek ducked his head and did what he did best. He avoided answering. "I'm glad it's getting easier for you," he said instead. "Dealing with everything."

"It's not easy," Stiles replied, his voice taking on an edge of discomfort. "But yeah. Easier."

Derek stood, signaling an end to their heart-to-heart. "Maybe someday soon you'll be ready for me to move out and get my own place, then," he suggested, and the stricken look on Stiles' face twisted his stomach. "Or not."

"You promised you wouldn't leave, and I'm holding you to that," Stiles insisted.

"I could never break a promise to you," he murmured, and Stiles' face darkened. Before he could reference their failed relationship again, Derek clapped Stiles' shoulder and turned to head for the door. "I'm glad we resolved this. Next time don't make me be an asshole before you talk to me, okay?"

"I hope there isn't a next time."

He paused at the door, glancing back to see Stiles looking at him wistfully. "Me either. Good night, Stiles."

"Good night." There was a pause, and then, with a hint of a smile in his voice, "Sourwolf."

Derek groaned and rolled his eyes. "Yeah, that nickname never needs to make a comeback."

The soft huff of laughter followed him out the door and when he slid back into his own bed, his chest feeling lighter than it had in days, it only took moments for Derek to slip into sleep.

lllll

The twins' sixth birthday was coming up, and Stiles knew it was going to be difficult on all of them. This would be the first of many birthdays Lydia wouldn't be around to share with them. This would be their first birthday without their mother planning the perfect party, making sure the decorations were on point, and lighting up the room with her smile. Stiles knew no matter how much he prepared for it, the day was going to be painful.

If it helped him to think about a time in his life when things were good, when he was happy, who would it hurt? That was his rationalization when he found himself reminiscing about those five months he and Derek had been together. Every time he off-handedly made a comment about something they'd done together he could see Derek go still, his jaw tensing, and he wouldn't say much more than "Uh-huh," before changing the subject and moving on. It didn't stop Stiles from reflecting fondly.

"You remember that weekend we went down to Monterey?" Stiles asked that morning as he was making the boys' lunches for school and Derek was frying ham steaks with scrambled eggs and pepper jack cheese for breakfast. He glanced over at the aromatic concoction and salivated.

Derek made a face, poking at the eggs. "Yes."

Stiles laughed a little, almost to himself, as he returned to slathering almond butter on oatnut bread. "I'm pretty sure I haven't heard you bitch about anything more than that smell in all the years I've known you."

"What in the hell possessed you to take a _werewolf_ to Fisherman's Wharf, anyway? Or Cannery Row? I swear I couldn't get the smell of fish guts out of my nose for a week," Derek grumbled.

"You were in the middle of your Steinbeck phase," Stiles replied with a shrug, reaching for the boysenberry jam Dominic favored. "I thought you'd like to see where _East of Eden_ was set."

Stiles could feel Derek's gaze on him and if he was braver, he'd look up and meet it head-on. Instead, he moved to the sink and rinsed the knife off before sticking it in the dishwasher. When he finally had the courage to glance at Derek, he was studying Stiles questioningly.

"What brought Monterey to mind?" he asked, his voice strained.

He hesitated before replying softly, "I was listening to the CD last night. The one we got at the jazz festival."

What remained unsaid was that Stiles had fallen in love with the music and Derek didn't miss a beat before snagging one of the CDs, paying for it, and presenting it to Stiles. It had been the first gift, the first spontaneous gesture. They'd only been together for a few weeks and the shifting of their relationship was still something that had them both a little off-kilter, both trying to find their way. The impromptu purchase had had Stiles fisting a handful of Derek's shirt, pulling him in for a heated kiss, and had led to them pulling each other toward their hotel for some seriously bone-melting sex. Afterward they'd lain in bed, Stiles curled onto Derek's chest and Derek's fingers lazily trailing over Stiles' hipbone, and Stiles was pretty sure he never wanted to be anywhere else but at Derek's side for the rest of his life.

A little more than four months later they were over, and he'd never known why. He'd never gotten over it, either.

Stiles' proclamation had both of them falling quiet, and he ducked his head again and went back to filling the twins' lunch bags. The deafening silence in the kitchen had Stiles' nerves on edge, and just when he thought they were going to snap from the pressure, Derek sighed. Stiles looked at him out of the corner of his eye, watching as he deliberately turned down the heat underneath the ham and eggs, shifted to face him, and crossed his arms over his chest.

"You have to stop."

He flinched. "Stop what?" he asked, knowing full well what Derek was talking about.

"You have to stop reliving everything. I don't know where this is all coming from, but you can't."

Wiping his hands on the towel Derek had tossed on the counter, Stiles turned and sank back, his ass pressing into the edge of the tile as he braced himself on the heels of his hands. His fingers curled tightly over the rim, the tips tapping against the underside of the counter in a staccato beat. "I need memories of being happy to get me through today," he confessed, almost in a whisper. He knew Derek would hear regardless. "And if I think about memories of being happy with _her_ , I'll break. I'll look at Dominic and Hunter and be angry that she isn't here, and angry that they have to spend the rest of their lives without their mother. The way I had to."

"Fuck, Stiles," Derek groaned, settling in against the counter beside him. "Why didn't you tell me?"

He held his breath for a moment before releasing it slowly. "Because I didn't want you to hurt for me. I didn't want to make you sad."

Derek went still beside him, as he always did when his own feelings were brought up. "I'm fine. I'm here for _you_ , remember? Don't worry about me."

"Goddamn it, Derek!" Stiles burst out, pushing away from the counter and whirling on him. "Why are you always such a martyr? Why can't you ever, I mean, even just _once_ , _feel_ something?"

Pale, moss-colored eyes stared steadily back at him. "I felt something once. It didn't work out very well for me."

Stiles stumbled back, trying to escape the pain that laced his friend's otherwise-stoic voice. "Yeah? That was on you. Not me." He snatched at the lunch bags, heading into the dining room and dropping them on the table. "I'm going to go wake the boys up."

He fled the first floor, his lungs and heart working overtime as he climbed the stairs on shaky legs. When he got to the boys' room he had to pause for a moment to take in a couple quick breaths before pasting a smile on his face and swinging the door open quietly. "Happy birthday," he called softly, approaching the beds. Two dark heads barely peeped out from under the covers. "Happy birthday," he repeated as he got closer, a little louder this time. The two dark heads moved. "HAPPY BIRTHDAY!" he hollered, jumping into Hunter's bed and grinning for real, finally. He had to put Derek out of his head. Today was for his sons.

Both boys leaped out from under their bedspreads, giggling maniacally as they tackled their dad. Dominic did a flying leap from his bed onto Hunter's, his arms going around Stiles' neck and yanking him down into a pile with his brother. Stiles couldn't help the exuberant laughter that burst out of him.

"Will Uncle Scott and Aunt Kira be here today?" Dominic demand to know, and Stiles ruffled his hair.

"They sure will be, kiddo. And they're bringing their new baby, Mirai."

Hunter wrinkled his nose. "The baby isn't going to cry during our party, is she?"

Stiles chuckled. "I can't make any promises, because she's little, and babies cry a lot. You should have heard the way you two kept your mom and me up all night," he teased, but his breath caught when he realized what he'd just said. Dominic and Hunter both went quiet, their eyes wide as they stared up at him. "Besides, if she starts to cry, Kira will take her out of the room," he promised, his voice faltering. "She won't let Mirai ruin the party."

Dominic ignored the reassurance. "Did you and Mommy hate us when we cried?" he asked, and Stiles gaped at him.

"Of course not!" he protested immediately. "We loved you so much. We were exhausted, yeah, but we were so happy to have you both that it didn't bother us, or not really. You are the best thing that ever happened to either one of us."

Hunter lifted his eyes mournfully. "I wish Mommy was here," he said softly. "But I know she can't be."

Stiles gathered the boys to him, cuddling them on his lap. "I wish Mommy was here, too," he whispered, nuzzling his cheek against the top of his youngest's head. "But you have so many people who love you and want you to be happy, and are going to do everything they can to make today a good day for you instead of an unhappy one."

Dominic looked past Stiles' shoulder, smiling sadly. "Like Uncle Derek."

"Yeah, like Uncle Derek." Stiles' voice caught on the name. "He loves you very much, almost as much as I do, and Mommy did."

A quiet cough sounded behind him and he twisted on the bed to see Derek leaning against the door frame, his muscular body filling nearly the entire space. "Your dad is right," he said, stepping into the room and sinking onto the opposite side of Hunter's bed. Dominic scrambled into his lap while Hunter snuggled deeper into his father's chest. "I love you guys more than anyone."

"Even more than you love Daddy?" Hunter asked innocently, and Stiles took a breath that felt like dragging his flesh over broken shards of glass. Derek's gaze lifted to meet his, and they watched each other for a few moments before he smiled at the boys.

"I've loved your dad for longer, but that's only because I've known him for longer," Derek admitted. "Since you two were born he's just been second-best, though," he teased, winking, and it helped to break the somber mood. The twins giggled and Stiles eased out a painful, strained breath.

Dominic sat up in his lap, poking him in the chest. "Are you going to be here when Uncle Scott and Aunt Kira get here?"

"I'm actually going to the airport after I drop you both off at school," Derek explained. "I'm picking them up and bringing them back so they'll be here when you two get home."

"Oh crap, that reminds me, did you get the car seat for Mirai?" Stiles asked.

Derek nodded. "Went and picked it up yesterday. I texted Kira and confirmed it was the one she wanted. We're good." Stiles exhaled, this time the breath coming out a bit easier. Then his eyes flew open.

"I have to finish getting ready or I'm going to be late for work," he realized, scooting Hunter onto the bed and standing up.

"Why do you have to go in this early?" Hunter asked, brow furrowing.

"I promised Grandpa I'd go in an hour early so I could leave early and get home to help Uncle Derek set up the party," Stiles explained. He dropped a kiss to Hunter's head and then leaned over to do the same to Dominic, ignoring that his mouth was a mere inch or two from Derek's chest.

The sharp inhale told him the closeness hadn't gone unnoticed. "Breakfast is still in the pan," he said gruffly. "I turned the heat down to low, so it should still be good. Make sure you eat some before you leave," he added pointedly.

Stiles rolled his eyes. "Yes, dad," he sassed. It was a good compromise; he really wanted to snap at Derek, although he wasn't entirely sure why. He wrote it off as being stressed over what the day would bring, and chose to ignore the little voice piping up that it wasn't that simple.

The smirk Derek tossed his way loosened the knot in his chest, just a little. Stiles made a mental note to not push at Derek later, even if he was stressed. His friend didn't deserve getting shit on just because Stiles' mind was all over the place these days.

To pacify Derek, he grabbed a plate and dumped a big scoopful of eggs and a ham steak onto it, shoveling it quickly into his mouth as he finished up the last few things he had to do before leaving. When he kissed the boys goodbye, he was startled to realize he was moving in to do the same to Derek. He caught himself and pulled back, staring wide-eyed at the wolf before mumbling a goodbye and darting out the door.

That was not at all how he'd planned for this morning to go. Something told him it wouldn't be the last near-miss, and honestly, he wasn't sure how he felt about it. Or how he _wanted_ to feel about it. He didn't have time to think about it right now, though. He had work, and then the twins' birthday party to get through. He'd think about it later.

Which reminded him, he needed to stop by the liquor store. They were out of whiskey, and he had a feeling he'd be needing a _lot_ of it.

lllll

"Scott! Buddy!" Stiles lit up when he walked in the door and discovered Scott and Kira sitting in the living room with Derek. Scott stood up and threw his arms around Stiles, hugging him tightly. "I'm so glad you two could be here!"

"Us, too," Scott replied hesitantly. Stiles could see on his face that he was going to apologize for not being there for the funeral, so he threw a hand up to forestall the avalanche of guilt that was about to pour forth.

"Don't say anything," he said quietly. "I know. I understand. I never would have expected you to leave Kira. Besides, Derek was here."

Scott raised one eyebrow as he cast a side glance at the wolf in question, who was talking to Kira and fawning over the baby, and studiously ignoring Stiles. So he was still in trouble for this morning. Great.

"Apparently I wasn't necessary, then," Scott remarked, his voice more quizzical than the words themselves implied.

Stiles rolled his eyes. "You'll always be necessary, Scotty. It's just, well, you know."

Scott nodded; he _did_ know. In an emotional crisis, Derek was the only person who would ever be enough for Stiles, the only person who would keep him grounded, and sane, and out of a downward spiral from which there would be no recovery. "I'm glad he was here for you, especially since I couldn't be," he said instead, and Stiles didn't miss that Derek's face shifted away from Kira just long enough to flick his eyes at them before refocusing on her and Mirai.

"So why don't you introduce me to the new love of your life?" Stiles asked, diverting the attention away from his own issues. He knew it wouldn't be that easy, not long-term, but Scott would give him a break until the timing was better. His friend had learned when to push and when to pull back over the years; Stiles supposed that it was just an inevitability of growing older and wiser.

He eased down onto the couch beside Derek, pretending that it wasn't anything unusual, though he knew that neither of the wolves in the room was unaware that his heart was pounding. When Derek shifted on the couch Stiles held his breath, wondering if he was about to get up and walk away, thus making his unhappiness with Stiles abundantly clear. Instead, he lifted the precious bundle in his arms high enough to settle her into Stiles' arms, which came up instinctively when he realized what Derek was doing.

The beautiful little face peering up at him rocked him to the core. It reminded him of when Dominic and Hunter had been this little, and his heart ached for a moment. Whether it was from the memory of watching Lydia hold their boys like this, or the idea that he might not ever get to experience it again with his own child, he didn't know.

"She's gorgeous," he breathed, and Kira and Scott both beamed at him. He couldn't help stealing a glimpse of Derek from underneath his lowered lashes, and the tenderness he saw on the other man's face stole his breath. "She makes me want to have another baby."

He didn't realize the magnitude of what he'd said until he registered the fact that Derek had frozen in place beside him, barely daring to breathe, and Scott was staring at him in shock. Kira was the only one who reacted with any tact.

"When the timing is right, I'm sure it will happen again, Stiles," she said carefully. She smiled softly at Scott. "It wasn't easy for us to have Mirai, you know that. I wondered for a long time if I was meant to get pregnant. But she happened when she was supposed to. If you're meant to have another baby, you will."

And if she glanced at Derek quickly before looking back down at her daughter with an enamored smile, Stiles wasn't going to point it out.

He took a moment to breathe in the smell of new baby, one of his favorite things ever, before regretfully handing her back to Kira. "I'm so happy to see you two again, but I have to finish wrapping the boys' gifts before they get back. My dad will be home with them any minute."

"Already done."

He looked sharply at Derek, who wasn't looking at him at all. "How did you know I hadn't done it yet?" Derek did look at him then and raised one eyebrow, the smirk on his face plainly saying, _I know you too well and you know it,_ and Stiles grinned sheepishly. "Yeah, I know. I procrastinate too much."

"Everything's ready for the party," Derek promised. "The cake is made and on top of the fridge so they won't see it until we bring it out after dinner, which is in the oven and will be ready in a half hour. All their presents are wrapped and stowed in the bottom of your closet. The dining room is completely decorated with as much Star Wars-themed stuff as I could find. We just have to wait for them to get here."

Stiles breathed a sigh of relief; Derek was his saving grace. He was certain he and the boys would still be a mess if Derek hadn't stepped in to their lives to haul them all back to their feet and gently prod them along. "What would I do without you?" he teased affectionately, and Derek shrugged.

"You'd survive," he said simply. "Because you have to." He smirked, trying to bring some levity to the somber moment. "You just survive better with me around."

"Not _even_ denying that," Stiles agreed emphatically, leaning in just enough to elbow Derek with a grin.

He'd been smiling a lot more lately. It scared him. He was afraid of being too happy; it wasn't fair to Lydia, it wasn't _right_ that it had only been seven months since she'd died and he was learning how to live without her, without grieving every moment of every day. Logically he knew it was normal, that he _should_ be learning how to live without her and without grieving every moment of every day, but it felt like the worst kind of betrayal.

He caught the look that passed between Scott and Kira before Scott looked at him, concern and curiosity warring on his face, and mentally groaned. Scott might be willing to leave the subject of Lydia alone until the timing was better, but he was sure his friend was going to grill him about what was going on with Derek. It was certain that Scott hadn't missed the tension between the two of them from the moment Stiles walked in the door.

Thankfully, his dad arrived with the twins before Scott could pull him to the side (despite knowing it wouldn't keep Derek from overhearing every embarrassing question, and of course the subsequently embarrassing answers). The boys shrieked with glee when they saw Scott and Kira and ran for their other "uncle", tumbling into his lap as he laughed joyfully. Scott hadn't had the same presence in their lives that Derek had, but they loved him anyway.

"How are my favorite six-year-olds _ever_?" he asked enthusiastically, falling back into the couch when they threw their arms and entire combined body weight into his chest. He groaned melodramatically, as if they were actually causing him pain.

Stiles tuned out their excited chatter as he caught Derek's slight movement out of the corner of his eye. He couldn't help but let his gaze drift back to his best friend, who was watching him openly. He could hear his dad greeting Kira and cooing happily at Mirai as Kira handed the baby over, but it was all dimly registered. Instead, he could only focus on the fact that Derek didn't appear to be angry with him.

Not that he felt like he'd been wrong this morning. Not at all. Derek had been the one to walk away from him eight years ago and any unhappiness he'd experienced as a result was his own damn fault. He hadn't believed in Stiles, he hadn't believed in their ability to survive. Lydia hadn't even been a threat; yes, of course he'd loved her, but he'd loved Derek, too. Lydia only found her way back into his heart in a romantic sense because Derek had cracked it wide open and left room for her.

It didn't mean that he was proud of himself for throwing that fact back in Derek's face. Derek hadn't been trying to blame Stiles, but Stiles had blamed him. He'd felt awful about it all day. He'd felt even worse about instigating everything. Derek had been _trying_ to get him to shut up, to cancel that trip down memory lane, but he'd just kept pushing, hurting Derek with every word. He couldn't explain how much he'd needed to relive those happy times, especially today. He just knew he couldn't keep drowning in misery over Lydia's death. It wasn't healthy, but the only way he could think of to move past the pain was to focus on how happy he'd been _before_ her.

"Am I forgiven?" he murmured, his words barely audible.

Derek studied him. "There's nothing to forgive," he replied simply.

Stiles' chest constricted, knowing Derek overlooked too much of his shit. He had no clue how he'd been so fortunate that their relationship had evolved from grudging acquaintances to respected pack members to friends to… well, a hell of a lot more than that. He was grateful for it. Unthinkingly, he reached out and grabbed Derek's hand, slipping his into it and squeezing, hoping his eyes conveyed how much he meant to him and how happy he was that their friendship hadn't suffered a major hit.

The stricken look on Derek's face had him pulling back a little in confusion. Scott turned his head sharply, his eyes narrowing first at Derek and then at Stiles, and Stiles had no clue what was happening. He had to bite his tongue to keep from asking what the hell was going on, because he knew in front of his dad and Kira, and especially the boys, was not the place to have any kind of conversation about it.

"I'm going to go check on the lasagna," Derek muttered as he stood, tugging his hand out of Stiles' grip and making his escape. Stiles watched him go, a feeling of discontentment settling in around him.

"I'm going for a walk," Stiles mumbled, launching himself off the couch. "I'll be back before dinner."

Scott stood, too. "Why don't I join you? We can catch up for a few minutes." He looked over at Kira. "Do you want me to take Mirai in the stroller, give you a break for a few?"

Before Kira could say yes or no, John spoke up. "This gorgeous little girl is staying right in my arms until dinner time," he responded firmly, a beaming smile brightening his face as he looked down at her. "Go, spend a few minutes just the two of you. We'll be fine with the kids."

Stiles watched as his sons peered at the baby in awe, knowing they'd all be fine for the twenty minutes he and Scott would be gone. Heading for the door, he lifted his chin at Scott to indicate he should follow. When Stiles pulled the door open behind him, Scott started in.

"So, what's the deal with you and Derek?"

He frowned, tipping his head back at the house to indicate a certain werewolf with super-hearing could easily be listening in to their conversation. "Why don't you tell me about Mirai, instead?"

Scott lit up. "Oh man, Stiles. Being a dad, it's incredible. It's the most magical, life-changing thing. How come you never told me it would be like this?"

Stiles laughed. "I _did_ ," he teased. "But it's the kind of thing you just absolutely cannot comprehend until you're there. You _think_ you get it, you _think_ you understand, but you don't. There's just no way."

"She's the best thing that's ever happened to me," Scott gushed in wonder, shaking his head. "I mean, not to knock Kira or anything, because I love her even more now that we share this miracle, but… man."

Smiling wistfully, Stiles nodded. "Kids can do that to you." He kicked idly at a rock as they crossed the street, the house getting further behind them. "You think he can still hear us?"

"Only if he's trying really hard," Scott said immediately. "And I feel like he wouldn't. He'd want to give you some privacy."

Stiles deflated, sighing so deeply that his body seemed to cave in on itself. "I don't know what's going on," he admitted. "Lately I've been trying to remind myself of how happy I was before Lydia and I got together. Derek was a huge part of that, until he wasn't. I don't know if all my reminiscing is dredging up all those old feelings, but I can't stop thinking about how good we were together and I hate it. I love it, but I hate it. It just feels wrong. It's too soon."

Scott nodded. "I don't want to even pretend like I understand what you're going through, because I don't, and I can't. But I do know you, Stiles. You're a man who has a huge heart and loves deeply. Loving Derek isn't mutually exclusive with loving Lydia. You're not betraying her memory by remembering how much you loved him… And you wouldn't be betraying her to love him again."

Shaking his head ruefully, Stiles let out a sharp bark of dry laughter. "I already do love him again, Scott. I never stopped. Lydia knew it, too, which is why I think Derek stopped coming around the last couple years. I think he knew that it bothered her, and he bowed out of our lives because he respected us too much to be the person to come between us."

"He's a good man." They fell silent as they continued to walk. "If it wasn't too soon… If it was in another three months, or six, or a year. Would you let him back in?" Scott knew more than anyone, except for Lydia, how devastated Stiles had been when Derek fled to New York and ceased all contact with him. His hollow eyes and listlessness, the lack of appetite and interest in anything, had worried everyone still left in his life for a solid month. That wasn't something Stiles would be anxious to open himself back up to, especially not on the heels of losing the only person who had been able to coax him out of his grief.

"I don't know," he said honestly. "I don't think our story is over, but I'm not ready for it to continue."

"It's already continuing," Scott pointed out. "And I think you do know. You're just afraid to admit to it out loud." He was quiet a moment, then added, "You remember inside, on the couch?" Stiles nodded. "When you took his hand, his heart started racing like he was on the track at the Kentucky Derby. You affected him _that_ much. He affects you, too. Your story is going to keep writing itself whether you're ready for it to or not."

Stiles blew out a breath as he speared his fingers into his hair, tunneling them through the thick brown strands. "Maybe we should talk about something else," he said finally. "Like how happy I am that you're back, even if it's only for a week. I hate that you live so damn far away, I never get to see you."

Scott's eyes twinkled. "What would you say if I told you we're moving back to California?" he asked slyly, and Stiles' eyes widened happily.

"I'd say that's fucking fantastic!"

Chuckling, Scott checked for traffic before crossing the next street. "We won't be here in Beacon Hills, we'll be in Sacramento. Still, it'll be a hell of a lot closer than Japan."

"Uh, yeah!" Stiles snorted. "That's only an hour and a half away! Why are you moving back?"

"Deaton has the clinic there, remember? We've been talking, and he wants me to take it over so he can spend more time traveling. Kira applied for a position as professor of Japanese cultural studies at CSU and just found out last week that she starts in January."

"Scotty, that's the best news ever!" Stiles cried, throwing his arms around Scott and pounding him on the back. "I'm so excited for both of you!"

He grinned, evidently pleased by the turn of events. "We're excited, too. We're so happy we're going to be around family again."

"Speaking of which, we probably better get back to the house. Melissa will be there soon if she isn't already, and I'm sure she can't wait to see you."

Scott snorted. "She's probably so wrapped up in my daughter that she doesn't even know I'm not there."

Stiles chuckled in agreement. "Grandparents tend to forget they have kids when their grandkids are present."

The two turned around and headed back in the direction they'd come from, falling into an easy conversation about moving plans and house-hunting. It took them almost no time at all to get back to the Stilinski house, and when Stiles opened the door Melissa was there to hug Scott tightly, then him. John was still cuddling Mirai against his chest, although Stiles wasn't sure how he'd managed to win that battle against Melissa, and Kira was watching them fondly.

Stiles' gaze skated past them to land on Derek, who was sitting in the cream-colored chair with Dominic and Hunter both curled up on his lap, one snuggled in the crook of his arm and the other with his head laid contentedly against Derek's chest. His stomach started doing backflips and Stiles was forced to recognize that, too soon or not, he had to make a decision regarding what he wanted to do about Derek. The man was inextricably linked with his family and if he didn't do something soon, that family could once again be in jeopardy of being broken.

No way in hell was Stiles going to let that happen.

lllll

"I can't believe it's already time to go home," Scott said, his tone conveying his regret. "It feels like we just got here."

"At least you know you won't be gone for long," Derek returned, stacking their lunch dishes in the dishwasher. Mirai was bouncing in her jumper seat, which was decorated in a rainforest theme and covered in frogs and parrots, while Kira had gone to lie down for a nap. Scott had shooed her away after lunch, wanting her to take the opportunity to rest while she could get it. "When will you be back?"

Scott frowned unhappily. "Not until after New Year's. Kira's semester doesn't end until the week before Christmas, and moving during the holidays is insanely expensive. We'll be here by the end of the first week of January."

"That's not that long," Derek reminded him, shutting the dishwasher and pressing the button to start it. It hummed to life and he stepped away, wiping his hands on a dish towel. "Only three months."

"I know, but I wanted to be home for the holidays," Scott admitted. "I haven't spent Christmas with my mom in years."

Derek frowned. "I'm pretty sure this will be the first Christmas I've spent with something other than my laptop and a bottle of tequila in close to a decade."

Scott winced melodramatically. "Jesus, Derek, you win. That's awful. Besides, isn't Christmas your birthday, too?"

"Yeah, so what?" Derek shrugged. His birthday had never really mattered to him; his family had tried, but they'd all fallen victim to the curse of making Christmas more important than celebrating his birthday. Once they were gone, he was pretty sure no one but Stiles had even known what his birthday was. Of course he'd told Scott, though if truth be told, Derek was surprised Scott had remembered.

"What do you mean, 'so what'?" Scott parroted, outraged. "Your birthday shouldn't be spent drinking yourself stupid." He considered. "Okay, yeah, maybe it should be, but it should be spent drinking yourself stupid with _friends_ , not all alone."

Derek scoffed. "Right, because Christmas is the ultimate day to go party with your friends."

Scott rolled his eyes. "You know Stiles and I would have been down for it, all you had to do was ask."

"Yes, I was always so good about asking people to do things for me."

"No, actually, you sucked ass at it." Scott grinned cheerfully. "But you're an adult now, and you should know better."

Derek shrugged uncomfortably. "I do better doing things for other people instead of the other way around," he replied.

"Understatement of the century," Scott snorted. He paused, and Derek could sense that the conversation was about to change course. "Speaking of which, you've done so much for Stiles and I can't begin to thank you for everything."

He raised one eyebrow. "I didn't realize it was your place to be thanking me," he said mildly, and Scott made a face at him.

"I just meant because I couldn't be here. I felt like total shit knowing he was going through the worst thing he could possibly go through, aside from losing one of the boys. I wanted to fly out so many times, but I couldn't leave Kira and Mirai was too young to fly that kind of distance." Guilt twisted his features. "I hated that I couldn't be here to support him and let him cry on my shoulder and drink with him until he puked, and then carry him back to bed."

A smirk crossed the older wolf's face. "Trust me, he did that plenty of times, and every time it was horrible. You would have felt worse if you'd been here, because he only spiraled further when he was drinking. It never helped, so he eventually gave up trying."

"Still, Derek. I wanted to do _something_ , and I couldn't. All I could do was send texts and call every once in awhile. I was a horrible friend."

"Scott." Derek sighed in frustration. "I promise you that you weren't a horrible friend, and Stiles has never thought so."

"I'm glad he had you. _Has_ you."

Derek grimaced. He wasn't sure how much longer that was going to last. Tension was rising rapidly between he and Stiles, and he didn't think it would be long before he'd have to leave. Stiles was doing significantly better, anyway. It really was time for him to go. Fortunately Logan was still in California, so Derek made a mental note to call him over the weekend to look into houses again. Just because he wouldn't be able to live with them anymore didn't mean he wanted to be too far away. They were his family now, for better or worse.

Scott saw the look and shifted his weight onto his other foot, impatience crossing his face. "Derek, you saved his life. I didn't have to be here to know that. All it took was talking to him and listening to 'Derek said' and 'Derek did' and 'If it wasn't for Derek' pretty much every other sentence and it was clear. I don't know if he would have pulled out of this on his own, at least not for years." He fell silent for a moment. "Did he ever tell you what happened when his mom died?"

Derek stared at him. "That's a pretty vague question. Lots of things happened when his mom died."

"I meant what happened with his dad."

"Stiles doesn't talk about his mom much. If he does, it's about some memory he has of her. The aftereffects aren't something he's ever dwelled on."

Scott sat down at the dining room table, using his foot to nudge Mirai's bare baby foot as she bounced, smiling in wonder at her giggle. He waited until Derek was seated in the chair across from him before he started. "When his mom died, Stiles' dad just shut down. He found himself in the bottom of a bottle of whiskey more nights than not. Stiles floundered. It was just the two of them, no other family showed up. He had aunts and uncles and cousins, but once the funeral was over they went back to their lives. Stiles spent years taking care of himself. He loved his dad and needed him more than ever, but the Sheriff was so lost in his own misery and grief that he kind of forgot he was a parent as well as a husband. Stiles spent a lot of time at my house. We were already friends, but that's when we became best friends, and my mom became his other mom. Not that he ever would have put that into words, because he would never have betrayed his own mother's memory. But she filled that need."

Derek exhaled slowly, nodding. "I suspected something like that."

"What I'm trying to tell you is, Stiles could have been that. He could have gone the same path as his dad, basically forgetting he was responsible for Dominic and Hunter, and drinking himself half to death. Since you were here, he didn't. You've helped him so much and you don't even know what a huge impact you've had on his grieving process."

"I would have done anything to help him through this," Derek replied honestly.

"Because you love him."

Derek didn't answer, although he knew he didn't have to. He might have been able to hide his true feelings from Stiles, but he would never fool Scott. The pounding of his heart at the simple statement gave him away instantly.

Reaching out, Scott took one of Derek's hands. He wanted to yank it back, to flinch away and eliminate the physical contact. Instead, he forced himself to remain still and let Scott pat his hand comfortingly. "What about _you_ , Derek?"

"What do you mean, what about me?" he echoed, blinking in surprise.

"I _mean_ , how are _you_ holding up?" Scott asked. "I know you've given up your life to take care of Stiles and the twins. I know you've spent the last seven months forgetting anything about your own happiness because Stiles' was more important."

Derek did pull his hand away now, as if Scott's touch burned him. "I don't think about it."

Scott rolled his eyes. "Isn't that _exactly_ what I just said?" he asked in frustration. "I know you love him. This can't be easy for you."

"Of course it's not," Derek growled. "It kills me to watch him in so much pain."

"But he's not in that much pain anymore," Scott pointed out. "Not near as much as he used to be, anyway."

He nodded slowly, recognizing the truth in Scott's words. "No, he's not. He's getting better, slowly."

"And you?"

"I'll be fine."

"Come on Derek, don't pull that stoic bullshit on me. Stiles is my best friend, but I know I'm not his, not anymore. You are. You've been one of the most important people in his life for almost a decade. If he knew how much this was hurting you, he'd feel awful," Scott reminded him.

"Which is why he can't know," came the even reply. Derek stared at him steadily and Scott sighed in exasperation. After a few moments of strained silence, Derek finally flopped backward in the chair, his spine pressing against the thin wooden spindles comprising the back of it. "He's been reminiscing a lot lately," he finally admitted, his voice tight. "Talking about when we were together and how happy he was."

Scott frowned in sympathy. "Ouch."

"Tell me about it." Derek's fingers curled into the edge of the table, gripping it so tightly he was surprised it didn't crumble in his hands. "Here I am trying to forget how much I love him, and he's constantly reminding me of the time we fell in love. Or I did, anyway."

"You know he loved you too, right?" Scott insisted. Derek's head snapped up and he stared suspiciously at Scott. "He was broken when you left for New York. If it hadn't been for Lydia, I'm not sure he would have recovered."

Derek laughed, the sound lacking any humor. "He would have been fine, in time."

"So give him time now," Scott urged.

"I'll give him all the time he needs."

"Did time help _you_?"

The question startled him and he considered Scott's words. "It did." Scott sat back, studying him, and Derek felt the overwhelming need to prove to the alpha that he hadn't wasted his life. "I was miserable for a long time. But then I saw him at the wedding, saw how happy he was with Lydia, and I realized I had to let him go. He was never meant to be mine."

"How come you never had any other relationships?" Scott asked, and Derek knew the curiosity in his voice was genuine and not malicious.

It didn't mean that it wasn't hard to answer. "I didn't want one," he replied, the words sticking in his throat. "Relationships… never worked out very well for me. There was Paige, then Kate, then Jennifer, and then Stiles. All of them crashed and burned, literally in Kate's case." A bitter scowl twisted his lips at his own macabre reference. "I didn't want to keep trying after that." The truth burned in his gut and he knew it made him look like he'd given up, and he kind of had, but he'd just learned long ago that it wasn't in the cards for him.

The raw sympathy on Scott's face tore at him. "Is that why you remained an omega?" The question was hesitant, halting, and Derek understood that it was what Scott had been working up to all along. In all the years they'd been friends Scott had never pushed Derek to be honest with him the way Stiles always had, and Derek suspected the younger wolf had always been curious how he could have chosen to remain without a pack. This was the first time Scott had broached the subject with him.

"There weren't any hunters in New York," he replied shortly. "It's safer to be an omega there, and I didn't need the power that comes along with a pack. I just wanted to write and be anonymous."

Derek was ready to declare the conversation over, but Mirai chose that moment to start fussing. Scott scooped her up out of the jumper and laid her against his chest. She cooed for a moment, her little fingers curling into the collar of his shirt, and Derek watched the father and daughter while trying to ignore the invisible fist squeezing his own heart. "What's it like, being a father?"

Scott looked up from the baby bundled on his chest to Derek's wistful face, his eyebrows drawing together in surprise. "Why are you asking me?"

Derek shook his head. "I never wanted to be a father. Too much pain and suffering in the world and I didn't want to bring kids into it. I figured I was better off childless, free to do whatever needed to be done. Then Stiles and Lydia had the twins and I fell in love with them, and it made me kind of want that for myself, someday."

"And?"

He shrugged, wanting the motion to feel casual even though it was anything but. "And nothing. I'll be thirty-five on Christmas, and I'm pretty sure that particular time clock has run out for me."

Scott snorted. "Are you kidding me right now? How do you not realize you already _are_ a father?" Derek stared at him, shock in every facet of his expression, and Scott laughed. "Dude, I've seen it. Stiles has been texting me pictures of you with the boys. Giving them baths, reading them bedtime stories after tucking them in bed at night, helping with their homework, making popcorn together for movie nights. You _are_ their dad, just as much as Stiles is. They might be related to him genetically, but you're the father who stepped in and took on the responsibility when they needed you most. You're the best kind of father there is."

The words hit him like a punch to the stomach. The confirmation of what he'd been feeling for months sent him reeling, making everything seem so much more _real_ all of a sudden. The words he'd spoken to Stiles, what felt like a lifetime ago, replayed in his mind.

" _I want to be in Beacon Hills, with my family."_

" _Your family?"_

" _You and the twins, dumbass. I might not be an alpha anymore, but you're still my pack."_

The truth of the statement rocked him. They were his family. He'd been convinced he could handle Stiles breaking his heart again, if it meant being there and easing his grief and suffering. He hadn't counted on what it would do to him to lose his whole family all over again. He wasn't sure _that_ was something he could survive.

Shooting up from the table, he mumbled an apology to Scott and headed for the front door. Scott called out behind him in confusion, asking him to wait, stop, where was he going? Derek didn't heed the words, he just knew he had to get away. His world was poised to fall down all around him for the third time, and this time, he had so much more to lose.

lllll

Derek sat at his laptop, staring at the blinking cursor and mentally cursing his damned writer's block. For days he'd been sitting there, his hands hovering over the keyboard waiting for the burst of inspiration that would get him back into a rhythm, but the words wouldn't come. After a few moments, he growled and snapped the laptop lid shut.

He knew what the problem was. Ever since Scott and Kira's visit, he'd been on the verge of coming unglued. Things with Stiles were so painfully tense and it was just as much his fault as it was Stiles'. Stiles still wanted to reminisce, but every word out of his mouth made Derek flinch and it was like Stiles knew he was doing something wrong, but he couldn't stop it. The more Derek pulled away, the more Stiles tried to pull him back in with, "Remember that time when…" and the memories were so painful that Derek couldn't stand to listen to them.

Worse, the tension was evident to the boys. Hunter had frowned at them at dinner last night and point-blank asked, "Uncle Derek, why are you mad at Daddy? Did you fight?" and Derek had stared at him in helpless shock, unable to answer. Stiles had done the wide-eyed-owl blink himself, neither one of them knowing what to say.

Dominic had piped up with, "Adults fight sometimes, Hunter. Remember when Mommy and Daddy fought?"

Hunter looked from Derek to Stiles and back again. "Yeah, but usually they yelled. Daddy and Uncle Derek just aren't talking to each other anymore."

Derek shared a pained glance with Stiles. "I'm not mad at your dad, Hunter," he began awkwardly. "Sometimes people go through periods where it's hard for them to talk about what's going on in their heads. And your dad can tell you I'm not the most talkative person."

"You talk to us all the time!"

Smiling ruefully at Dominic , Derek shrugged. "It's taken me a long time to get comfortable talking to people. You guys are easy to talk to, but other people aren't as easy. It's still instinctive for me to shut down rather than talk about what's wrong."

He could feel Stiles' eyes on him, but refused to look in his direction. "So you're not mad at Daddy?" Hunter pressed.

"Nope. Just have a lot on my mind right now," Derek answered truthfully.

It had been the end of the discussion, but not the end of Stiles' questions or curiosity. Derek had forestalled all of it by claiming he had to work on the book-not that it was in any way a lie, but he knew he wouldn't be doing anything more than staring at a blank screen and an insistently blinking cursor. It was just an excuse to shut Stiles down and not have to answer any of the million questions that would tumble from his best friend's lips.

Grumbling in frustration, Derek pulled out his phone and sent the message that he had been dreading sending for a week now. It had gotten to the point that he could no longer delay it; his deadline was in five weeks and he wasn't anywhere near being finished. This would be the first time he hadn't met his deadline, and he was furious with himself for failing.

 **Derek: Lani, I hate to do this to you, but I'm not going to make my deadline.**

 **Melania: You say that every time. You'll be fine.**

 **Derek: No, this time I'm certain.**

 **Melania: How far off the mark are you?  
Derek: I still have nearly the entire third act left.**

 **Melania: Shit, that's not good.**

 **Derek: I hadn't figured that out.**

 **Melania: Fuck you, Hale. Now's not the time for your sarcastic bullshit.**

 **Melania: How much longer do you think you'll need?**

 **Derek: I don't know. At the rate I'm going, another six months.**

 **Melania: It can't be that bad. Send me the file and your outline for the third act and we'll brainstorm.**

 **Derek: About that.**

 **Melania: Fuck, Hale. You didn't write an outline?  
Derek: I never do, Lani.**

 **Melania: Maybe not, but you always have everything planned out in your head. What happened?  
Melania: Scratch that, I know exactly what happened. Something's wrong with Stiles, isn't it?  
Derek: Something's been wrong with Stiles since birth.**

 **Melania: Ha. You know that's not what I meant.**

 **Derek: I know. There are problems.**

 **Melania: There are problems in every relationship, and yours got off to a really shitty start.**

 **Derek: That's not the issue right now, Lani. I have too much left to do on the manuscript, and not enough time to do it. I need an extension.**

 **Melania: That's exactly the issue, if he's the reason you can't write. Send me the file. I'll read what you have and call you tonight. You'll tell me what the hell is going on, I'll tell you you're being a dumbass and you'll get through whatever it is, and then we'll figure out how to get this book finished. Deal?  
Derek: I'd be lost without you.**

 **Melania: Tell me something I don't know. I'll call you when I get home.**

 **Derek: So, midnight?**

 **Melania: Your time or mine?**

 **Derek: Right. I'll wait to hear from you.**

 **Melania: Love you, friend. You'll get through this. I promise.**

 **Derek: I hope you're right.**

 **Melania: Pfft. Haven't you learned by now not to doubt me?**

 **Derek: I apologize, I don't know what I was thinking.**

 **Melania: See, you're being a smartass. You're feeling better already.**

Derek managed to crack a smile, appreciating his editor's personality, which was a mix of no-nonsense and complete irreverence. She'd gotten him through some tough times; she'd get him through this as well.

He opened his laptop back up and plugged his flash drive into the USB port, tapping his fingers on the table while he waited for the computer to boot up. His pulse spiked when the screen flashed blue and then went black again. Punching at various keys didn't resolve anything. He could hear the hum of the fan that indicated the computer was powered on, but the screen stayed stubbornly blank. He pressed and held the power button until the computer shut down completely, removed the battery and unplugged the charger, and pressed and held the power button again, which was the extent of his troubleshooting know-how. Plugging the charger back in, he pushed the power button and waited, holding his breath. Nothing. Not even a flash of blue this time.

Fuck.

He considered texting Stiles and asking if it would be okay if he used his laptop, but ultimately decided against it. Stiles wouldn't care in the least, and texting to ask something so benign would potentially open up lines of communication that he wasn't really ready to open.

It was awkward and slightly uncomfortable going into Stiles' room. For one, it smelled like him. It smelled of frustration and irritation and sorrow and grief and… fuck, it smelled like _Stiles_. He supposed it shouldn't be surprising that he still needed a physical release despite his mourning; after all, the equipment still worked, and he was still young and healthy. The smell of it was messing with Derek's head, though. Both of them.

Pushing away all thoughts of what Stiles did in the privacy of his own room, Derek slid into the seat at the desk and flipped the laptop open, pressing the power button and waiting for it to boot up. It didn't feel right, being in here without him. Their rooms had been their oases during the last seven and a half months. He could count on one hand the number of times he'd been in this room, and never without Stiles in it with him. He felt like an intruder, especially when he remembered that this had been Lydia's room as well. There was a sense that if he looked around, he'd see a great big sign declaring him unwelcome.

Shaking his head as if to dispel the disconcerting thoughts, Derek focused on the laptop. It was going through a series of updates and he huffed impatiently. He needed to get what he had to Melania ASAP or she might not have a chance to read it today, so he silently willed the thing to update faster.

And then the updates were complete, the desktop loaded, and the bottom dropped out of his stomach.

Stiles' background picture was from the twins' birthday. Derek hadn't been aware that his picture was being taken, but he suspected Scott was the guilty party. He and Stiles were sitting on the couch, Dominic and Hunter sandwiched in-between them. Dominic had just opened a new toy lightsaber and was striking a dramatic Jedi pose while Hunter excitedly ripped the paper off his similarly-shaped package. Stiles was laughing at Dominic's mugging for the camera, and Derek had made an affectionate comment that he was absolutely his father's son.

Whoever had snapped the shot had managed to capture it at the exact moment when Stiles and Derek locked eyes over the boys' heads, Derek's face soft and wistful, and Stiles beaming over at him. Dominic had leaned into him and was half-reclined against Derek's chest while Hunter did the same to Stiles. They looked every inch the family Scott had declared them to be, and it would be evident to anyone who saw the picture how in love with Stiles Derek actually was.

And Stiles had it as his desktop picture.

Derek's immediate reaction was to slam the lid of the laptop shut, his arms shaking, his heart racing. Staring him in the face was proof that he was in too deep. He'd had his heart broken before, he'd lost loved ones before, and while he had gotten through it, he had never truly healed. This time, he had the feeling that losing Stiles and the boys was going to destroy him. And the loss was inevitable. They were so close to reaching a breaking point and Derek knew that he couldn't continue to pretend that being Lydia version 2.0 wasn't slowly killing him.

Pushing the laptop back, he stood quickly and backed away from the desk and out of the room. He'd run to the library and send Melania the email, then go out and buy a new laptop. It had been a long time coming, anyway, and even if he could bring himself to open Stiles' computer again just to send the file, he would still need something to write on. He would just pretend he'd never seen the picture, and things would go back to normal. At least until it all fell apart.

Unfortunately, that was apparently easier said than done. All night he felt like a guitar that had been strung too tightly, ready to snap at the slightest provocation. Dinner was tense and the twins picked up on it, shooting worried glances between Derek and their father, who was unusually silent. He hated that he was bringing more stress and discomfort to their lives, but he couldn't come up with anything to say that wouldn't uncork the flood of frustration that was ready to spill over.

After dinner was over, Stiles glanced at the boys and sighed heavily. "I need you two to go up to your room right now, okay?" he said in an even tone, and Derek had to call on every bit of control he possessed to not shove himself away from the table and leave before the boys could.

Dominic looked from Stiles to Derek and back again in a panic while Hunter's eyes filled with tears. "You're going to fight, aren't you?" he accused them.

"No, but we need to talk about some things," Stiles replied gently. "Things that you don't need to hear about."

"You can't make us," Dominic said stubbornly.

"You should listen to your father," Derek cut in, almost choking at the reminder that Scott had called _him_ Dominic's father as well. Not to mention he wanted this conversation to happen even less than the boys did. But he knew it was coming and it would be better to just get it over with, and he really didn't want either of them to see or hear what might happen.

Hunter looked at them tearfully. "Please don't fight," he begged.

Derek could feel his gut twisting and he held out his arms for the little boy, who was out of his chair and in Derek's lap in a flash. "Hunter, everybody fights sometimes," he started, trying to be honest with him, but in a way that didn't hurt him. "Sometimes people do things that hurt other people, or sometimes people get upset about something and they have to talk about it, and the other person doesn't like what they have to say. Fights are normal and natural. The important thing about fights is how you deal with the person you're fighting with. You should never purposely try to hurt someone just because you're fighting with them."

"So you're not going to hurt Daddy?" Dominic pressed, and Derek swallowed hard, his gaze drawn to Stiles, who was watching him anxiously.

"Not on purpose," he answered honestly, and his heart broke when Stiles' eyes shuttered and his shoulders dropped, hunching forward. Stiles knew this wasn't going to go any better than Derek expected it to.

Stiles cleared his throat, trying for a smile and ending up with a grimace. "Please just go upstairs. We'll both be in to say goodnight before you go to sleep."

Hunter slid off Derek's lap and Dominic slunk from his chair, both staring warily at the two adults. Their hands linked and Derek watched as they headed upstairs, both glancing back unhappily once or twice before they disappeared into their room.

"Let's have it."

Derek flinched at Stiles' abrupt demand, already feeling himself shutting down. He wasn't going to be able to get through this if he didn't lock away how much it was going to hurt. "Have what?"

The snort expelled at him was almost volcanic in intensity. "Don't fuck with me right now, Derek. We both know something happened today and I want to know what it was. Things haven't been easy between us for awhile, but it was never this bad before."

Before he could stop himself, Derek blurted out, "I found the picture today. On your laptop," he clarified when Stiles stared at him in confusion.

"What picture?" he asked, his brow still furrowed.

"The birthday picture. The one you're using for your desktop."

Stiles blinked at him. "What the hell does a picture have to do with anything?"

Derek pushed back from the table now, feeling trapped in the enclosed dining room. He started to pick his plate and silverware up but Stiles waved it away impatiently.

"I don't give a shit about the dishes right now, Derek. I'll take care of them later." _I'll._ Not _we'll_.

"We looked like a family," Derek sighed, feeling the knife twist in his gut a little harder. "We looked like the family I always wanted us to be, and we never will."

"What are you talking about?" Stiles asked, shock crossing his features.

The air was getting too thick to breathe. Derek pushed past Stiles and into the family room, knowing instantly they wouldn't be able to talk in there because the sound would travel right up the stairs to the twins' room. Looking around the room for another option, his eyes landed on the door to the garage. They mostly only used it for storage, but it was relatively private.

Without looking over his shoulder to make sure Stiles was following, Derek yanked on the doorknob and twisted it open, struggling not to slam it behind him when he stepped into the stuffy, slightly musty-smelling garage. Stiles stepped in behind him and shut the door firmly, crossing his arms over his chest as he glared at Derek. "What did you mean by that?"

"I mean that I've been playing the role of your husband for almost eight months now, and I can't take it anymore!" Derek snapped, hating himself for the way Stiles reeled back, eyes wounded, looking for all the world as if Derek had just slapped him. "In that picture we looked like any happy little family, two dads and their kids celebrating a special family event. Except I'm _not_ part of this happy little family. I'm the outsider and I always will be, and it's killing me!"

His chest ached. He hadn't meant to let all his feelings gush out like that, but once the first word left his lips, he didn't even know what he was going to say until after he'd said it. Stiles stared at him, taking quick, shallow breaths, as if he was having just as hard of a time breathing as Derek was.

"You're not an outsider, Derek," he began, but Derek cut him off.

"Yes, I am, Stiles. You don't realize it, but I've become your replacement for Lydia." The scent of grief and anger practically leaped off of Stiles and Derek felt like an asshole, but he pushed on. The words needed to be said. "I'm your partner in every way but physical. I take care of the boys, the house, you. I give them baths and cook them dinner and read them stories and tuck them into bed at night," he continued, rattling off all the things Scott had pointed out just weeks ago. "The only difference between what we have now and what you had with Lydia is that we don't kiss each other goodbye in the morning and we don't crawl into bed together at night. We live like we're a family, but I'm not your husband, and I'm not their father. I'm just the one who stepped into your lives to fill a vacancy."

They stood there silently, neither of their eyes leaving the other, neither speaking. Stiles' mouth hung half-open; whatever his rebuttal might have been had evidently died before it made its way to his tongue. Derek was ready to curse and push his way back into the house when his phone rang, and he reluctantly dragged his gaze away from Stiles' face to check out the caller ID. He groaned when he saw it was Melania. She had the shittiest timing.

Turning away from Stiles, he accepted the call and pressed the phone to his ear. "What?" he barked impatiently.

"Nice to hear your cheery voice," she retorted, and he growled.

"Now is not a good time, Lani."

She snorted. "I can tell. Although honestly, maybe now's actually a great time, for you to come back to New York for a little while." He was quiet and she took that for acquiescence, plowing ahead. "I read through the draft. It's great work, but I can see you losing your focus in the last two chapters. You need to get away and get a break from whatever shit you're dealing with there. I have faith that you can finish this book by your deadline, but you're not going to do it if you're there."

Derek pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing quietly. "When?"

"There's a flight leaving Sacramento International in four hours. I have the flight arrangements all set up and my finger is hovering over the finish button. Tell me, and I'll hit it."

It only took him a moment to decide. "Hit it."

"Done. I'm emailing you the ticket and the itinerary. You've got plenty of time, but you'll need to be out of there in less than thirty minutes."

"I'll be out in ten."

"Shit, Hale. This guy's really done a number on you, hasn't he?" Her voice was both sympathetic and awed. In all the time Derek had known her, he hadn't had a single relationship. He'd had sex, as he had physical needs just like anyone, but none of his bed partners had ever mattered to him. He wouldn't let anyone matter. Melania hadn't minded, in fact she'd liked playing up the bad-boy angle, saying it gave him an air of unattainability that intrigued people, but privately she'd always told him he was too good of a man to close himself off. Now, maybe, she would understand why he had.

"I don't want to talk about it, Lani," he said quietly.

Brashness might have been her thing, but she was good at her job because she read people as well as she read books, and she wisely backed off. "We'll talk when you get here. See you soon, Hale."

The call disconnected before he had a chance to say goodbye, and when he turned around, Stiles still had his arms crossed over his chest and was glaring at him. His posture was stiff and yet defeated at the same time. "Let me guess, she needs you back in New York."

"No, _I_ need me back in New York," Derek retorted, feeling absolutely exhausted. "My book is due the week after Thanksgiving and I still have a third of it to write. Being here has cost me a lot of writing time."

"So, what, you're just going to flee back to New York with your tail between your legs?" Stiles bit out, and Derek glared back.

"I'm doing my job," he returned angrily. "I have a deadline to meet and I'm not going to meet it if I stay here."

Stiles snorted derisively. "You're a fucking coward, Derek Hale. You drop this bomb on me and minutes later you're running away from anything resembling being an adult and talking about this. I guess I shouldn't be surprised," he added bitterly. "Running away when things get tough is your M.O., after all."

Derek felt the words like a punch to the throat, and he wanted to stay, to fix things. "I have to go," he said instead, the words rough in his throat, like sandpaper. "I need to pack. My flight leaves in four hours, and it'll take me an hour and a half to get to the airport."

"Do one thing for me before you go." The words were soft, but there was steel underneath them. "Tell Dominic and Hunter. Don't you dare walk out of their lives without a goodbye."

"I will," Derek promised, feeling his throat close up at the finality in Stiles' eyes and voice. He stepped back into the house, shutting the door between them when he realized Stiles wasn't moving to follow him in. Things had fallen apart so much faster than he'd known they would. Distantly, he realized this could be the last time he'd ever set foot in the Stilinski house.

The scent of grief, of tears spilling out like a fountain, wrecked him, and he couldn't make it upstairs fast enough. As the haunting sound of Stiles' muffled sobs tore through him, he realized that even if he did come back, things would never be the same.

lllll

For the first week Derek was gone, Stiles swore he hated him. In contrast to the first time Derek had left, he thrived on his anger instead of wallowing in misery. He ranted at his dad and texted Scott furiously at two am when he couldn't sleep. He imagined Derek's face on the target at the gun range, and his aim had never been better. He refused to talk about him to the twins, which he recognized was probably a bad idea, but he'd lived through hell the last eight months and he just couldn't bring himself to be the better man when his world had been yanked out from underneath him so many times.

The second week Derek was gone, Stiles pretended everything would be fine. It was just a temporary falling out because Derek was stressed out over the book, and to be fair, Stiles recognized that his family had sucked up so much more of Derek's time than he'd ever dealt with before. Stiles hadn't made sure that he got the twins out of the house and gave Derek some space and alone time to get into the zone. He'd contributed to the issues.

The third week Derek was gone, Stiles' anxiety went through the roof. They'd barely spoken, although Stiles had convinced himself that it was because Derek had finally gotten into a writing groove and it was too hard for him to interrupt himself and engage in conversation. He ignored the voice that told him Derek couldn't be writing twenty-four/seven and if he wanted to talk to Stiles, he would.

By the end of the third week Stiles was panicking. Derek hadn't texted him in four days, despite Stiles still texting him daily, and he was afraid something might have happened. He wasn't sure if he was more afraid of that or of Derek having just decided to cut Stiles out of his life completely. He was tempted to have his dad text Derek and ask him if he was going to be home for Thanksgiving, which wasn't even a week away. Stiles still clung to the hope that Derek wouldn't stay away from his family on such a big holiday, but he had to admit that it was looking less and less likely as communication from Derek dwindled to virtually nothing.

In desperation, he pulled his trump card and didn't feel the slightest bit guilty doing so.

 **Stiles: The boys miss you, Derek. They haven't talked to you in almost a week. I know you're mad at me, but please don't punish them for whatever our problems are.**

He sat, staring at his phone for several minutes, hoping Derek would respond. He didn't disappoint.

 **Derek: Jesus, Stiles, I'm not cruel. I would never hurt them on purpose, no matter what the circumstances. And I'm not mad at you. Just busy writing.**

 **Stiles: You can't take a break?**

 **Derek: My deadline is in two fucking weeks, Stiles. No, I can't take a break.**

 **Stiles: Not for me. For them.**

 **Derek: I'm almost done with this chapter. Give me a few, I'll call then.**

 **Stiles: Thanks.**

 **Derek: Don't mention it.**

Stiles felt the stiff, polite brush-off in the text, his shoulders sagging in disappointment. He was beginning to believe there would be no way to salvage his and Derek's friendship, and that thought terrified him. Derek was his best friend in the whole world and he didn't know how he'd survive losing him in addition to Lydia.

He'd been so angry when Derek left, so devastated. It hadn't helped that he'd had to comfort a pair of sobbing six-year-olds, his fury rising when he realized his precious sons, who had already been dealt a crushing emotional blow once that year, needed Derek just as much as Stiles did and were even less equipped to deal with his sudden absence.

" _Daddy, how come he left?" Hunter had bawled, his face buried in Stiles' dark blue t-shirt, creating warm, damp patches with his tears. "He said he wasn't going to hurt you!"_

 _Stiles had rubbed his youngest son's back soothingly, forcing back his own tears. Right now the boys needed him and he couldn't get lost in his own unhappiness. "He had to go, baby," he murmured, his voice catching. "His editor needed him to go back to New York to finish writing his book. We've distracted him a lot the last few months and he wasn't getting enough work done."_

"Tell him to come back and we'll promise to be quiet so he can write!" Dominic had begged, fat tears rolling down his cheeks, and Stiles felt sick to his stomach that his children were blaming themselves for Derek's departure.

" _It's not your fault," he'd promised, smoothing Dominic's dark brown hair back from his forehead. "Uncle Derek just got used to being able to write all the time, whenever he wanted to, and he didn't know he wasn't going to be able to do that here. He didn't plan very well and now he's running out of time to finish his work. He'll be home soon."_ He hoped.

 _Dominic had thrown himself on his bed, kicking his feet in preparation for a full-scale temper tantrum. "Make him come home!"_

 _Stiles placed a calming hand on Dominic's back, stilling his thrashing movements. "You're too big to be throwing a tantrum," he scolded, keeping his tone gentle. "Uncle Derek loves you and he hates that he's disappointed you, but he's done a lot for us since your mom di… since she passed away. Now he needs to do something for himself, and we'd be selfish if we stopped him just because we miss him."_

 _Hunter had stopped crying, his cheeks damp and shiny as he looked at Stiles guiltily. "I don't want to be selfish," he whispered, and Stiles hugged him tighter._

" _I know you don't, baby," he sighed, tucking Hunter's head underneath his chin and letting Dominic curl up on the other side of his lap. "We just have to be patient and let him know how much we miss him whenever we get a chance to talk to him, but not beg him to come home, okay?"_

" _Will you miss Uncle Derek, Daddy?" Hunter had asked, and Dominic's owl-shaped eyes peered up at him, anxiously awaiting his answer._

 _Biting his lip, Stiles debated whether to answer honestly. "More than anything," he admitted finally. "I hate that he had to go and I want him to come home, but we have to let him do what he needs to do."_

" _We'll be brave," Dominic promised, his voice small. "When we talk to him. We'll tell him to hurry up and finish writing his book, but we won't cry."_

 _Stiles fought the tears that threatened to spill over, and mentally cursed Derek for leaving him to deal with two broken-hearted children._

The fury had given way to missing Derek so deeply he ached. He wanted to be angry. He wanted to blame Derek for being a huge asshole who only knew how to run away instead of fighting to fix the problem. He wanted to pretend everything was Derek's fault.

What he didn't want was to admit that he'd used his best friend horribly and hadn't even considered how much their life together was hurting the wolf. The guilt tore at him when he realized that he'd done exactly what Derek had said he had-he'd installed Derek in Lydia's role in order to keep his own grief from consuming him. Even once he'd begun to live again, to not be so weighed down with misery, he'd continued to hold on to Derek, refusing to let him go. Every time Derek had hinted that maybe it was time for him to get back to his own life, Stiles had rushed to demand promises that he wouldn't leave. Derek would never leave when Stiles needed him so much, so there had never really been a question that he would stay as long as he was asked to.

Stiles recognized that he had been a true asshole, and he was afraid it had cost him someone else he loved.

Despite clutching his phone so hard he was afraid he might break it, the incoming call several minutes later startled him. He fumbled with the phone, trying to answer and bring it to his ear before Derek could change his mind and hang up.

"Hey, Derek."

"Hi." The exhaustion in his voice amped up the guilt Stiles was feeling. If he hadn't taken such advantage of Derek, he wouldn't be working himself to the bone to meet his deadline. "Are the boys ready?"

His apparent disinterest in speaking to Stiles stung. "I thought, maybe, we could talk for a couple minutes first," he admitted, trying not to let on how much he wanted that.

Derek sighed wearily. "Stiles, I really don't have time. I feel like shit for not talking to the boys more often, but I thought you at least would understand I'm racing the clock here. I only have a few minutes as it is because I _have_ to get back to it."

"Okay," Stiles mumbled, the disappointment clear. "I just, well, I wanted to tell you… I wanted you to know I really miss you."

Derek was quiet for so long that Stiles had to check the phone to make sure he hadn't hung up. "I miss you too," he said finally. "But I'm not letting myself think about it because I can't afford to get distracted." He paused and Stiles waited hopefully for him to say that he missed him so much he'd be coming home as soon as the book was done. "I'm really short on time. Can you put the boys on the phone, or should I call back tomorrow?"

The rejection burned like poison in his blood. "No, they're here," he replied hollowly. "Dom! Hunter! Uncle Derek is on the phone, come talk to him!"

The boys squealed and raced for him, snagging the phone and falling all over themselves trying to get their news out before the other could. He wanted to smile at their eagerness, but even the excited chattering of his sons talking to their beloved Uncle Derek didn't cheer him up. All he could think about was the fact that Derek was keeping himself closed off, and it didn't appear as if Stiles had a chance in hell of getting through to him.

Just before they hung up, Dominic thrust the phone at his face and he got one last chance to talk to Derek. "Thanks for taking a few minutes out of your day for them," he said quietly, and Derek sighed.

"I love them, Stiles. Of course I'm going to do my best to be there for them, even though I'm busy." Stiles could hear paper shuffling in the background, tapping on the keyboard, and a muted growl, and he knew Derek was about to give him an excuse and hang up.

"Are you coming back for Thanksgiving?" he blurted, hating to press but _needing_ to know.

There was a sharp intake of breath, silence, and then, "No." The word fell between them like a bomb, the silence stretching until it was painful.

"Then I guess there's nothing left to say," Stiles replied finally. "Goodbye, Derek." He didn't wait for Derek's response and stabbed at the phone, trying to disconnect the call before the tears could escape.

He didn't try to text Derek again for three days. The anger, misery, and discontent rolled around in his stomach like a stew of angry bees and he constantly felt on the verge of throwing up or punching something. There were times he felt like he was going to crawl out of his skin and he itched to find a way to push it all away and forget about it for two fucking minutes.

When he opened the door to the sheriff's station in the wee hours of Tuesday morning, John took one look at him and sighed, gesturing for Stiles to follow him into his office. Stiles sat gingerly on the edge of the chair on the other side of his father's desk, his leg bouncing erratically while the two men studied each other.

"Stiles, you can't go on like this."

He had a long history of lying to his dad, but he couldn't even attempt to pull it off this time and he knew it. "Do I have a choice?" His voice was broken and he had to take several slow, deep breaths to keep his nauseated stomach under control.

"You've had two heartbreaks in less than a year and if you don't find a way to recover from them, you and your sons are both going to pay the price." John's tone was firm but his face expressed his unhappiness that he couldn't fix what was wrong.

Stiles laughed bitterly. "I'm betting it wouldn't be believable if I said it wasn't heartbreak."

Rolling his eyes, John blew out a breath and sat back in his chair. "If you even think about claiming that you're not in love with Derek, I'm going to smack you. I thought you stopped lying to me years ago."

"Would it be more believable if I said I'm trying to convince myself I'm not?" he replied honestly. "Because I shouldn't be. It's not right to have fallen in love again so fast. It's not fair to Lydia."

"It's not like you met some stranger," John reminded him patiently. "Derek has always had a piece of you."

"It took you years, a _decade_ , to take off your wedding band after Mom died," he said in a rush, his voice tripping over the words. They'd so rarely talked about Claudia, and Stiles wondered why, even now, it was so incredibly difficult to bring her up. More than ever, he understood what his dad had gone through. "How can I already be thinking about being with Derek? What's _wrong_ with me?"

John sighed, rubbing a hand over his face wearily. "It was different with your mom and me, son. For me, there had never been anyone else. She was my first love and my only love. No one ever came along who made me think they could come close to making me as happy as she did. You don't have that same certainty. You have Derek, you've _always_ had Derek, and you know you could be just as happy with him, if not happier."

Stiles closed his eyes, wallowing for a moment before reopening them and focusing on his dad. "How did you know?" he asked quietly. "You knew it was a bad idea for Derek to be here so long, and you knew that I never really stopped loving him. How did you know, after eight years, that Derek was going to break me for a second time? It's not like I ever really talked about him after he left, at least not how I felt about him."

The sheriff shook his head. "Because I know _you_ , Stiles. I know how deeply you love, and I saw you with him even after you were supposedly 'just friends' again. You were both trying to fool yourselves. When Lydia died and he came back, I knew it was only a matter of time before your feelings resurfaced, only this time without Lydia as an excuse to keep him at arms' reach."

"How come you never told me you saw all that?" The question was a hushed whisper, as if it pained Stiles to ask it.

John shrugged. "Because I also know you truly did love Lydia. She was your sons' mother. I wasn't going to force you to open your eyes to something that might have hurt her or them. You had made the choice to move on, and even if you wished you were still with him, you weren't, so I let it go."

"What am I going to do now?" Stiles asked helplessly. "I miss him so much, Dad. I don't know if he'll ever come back, and if he doesn't, I don't know how I'm going to survive it."

"Derek Hale loves you too much to stay away forever," John predicted. "He's punishing someone right now, whether it's you or himself, and he's hiding from the repercussions of both of your actions because it hurts too much to face them."

Stiles stared at his father, blinking slowly, until a tentative, hopeful smile appeared on his face. "You're a genius, Dad."

John stared back. "I have no idea what I just said that made you draw that conclusion."

He jumped up from his seat. "I need you to pick the boys up from after-school care today," he muttered, spearing his fingers through his hair as he paced in the small office, eyes on the floor as his mind raced in a million directions. "And stay with them tonight, and take them to school in the morning. And maybe pick them up again tomorrow, it just depends."

The sheriff watched him warily. "Mind filling me in on whatever hare-brained plan you just hatched?"

Stiles' gaze lifted from the floor to his father's face and he smiled grimly. "I'm going to make him face the repercussions of his actions."

"I take it you're going to New York, then?" John concluded, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

His eyes sparkled in determination. "Hell yes I am. I lost him the first time because he ran away and I was too devastated and afraid to run after him. I'm not going to make the same mistake twice."

lllll

Derek swore when his phone chirped at him again. He was nearly done with what he expected to be the second-to-last chapter, and Lani wouldn't quit interrupting him for progress updates. The last time she'd called he'd growled at her that he'd finish the damn book significantly faster if she would leave him the hell alone. She'd gone a full 24 hours before texting him again, so he counted it as progress, at least.

He was tempted to ignore whatever this new message was, but figured he should check just in case it was Stiles. If something had happened to one of the boys, he would never forgive himself for not responding right away. That was his justification for checking every time, even though he knew the likelihood was slim to none that he was urgently needed. It didn't matter. Seeing Stiles' name on his phone always made him feel better, even when it hurt just as much.

 **Stiles: I know you're busy right now, but I wanted to let you know you still have a home to come back to whenever you're finished with the book.**

Derek's chest tightened and he put the phone back down. He couldn't think about this right now. The book was so close to being completed and if he just worked his ass off, he would be able to relax for a few months before it was time to start on the next. Stiles and their situation would be able to command his attention then, but not now.

 **Stiles: In the spirit of this week being Thanksgiving, I'm thankful for you. I'm thankful for every role you've played in my life, and every moment you've been a part of it.**

The sentimentality was so outlandish he couldn't ignore it, but he was determined to finish the chapter before engaging Stiles. After a few minutes of furious typing, the chapter was done and he sat back, considering his response.

 **Derek: Even when you thought I was a murderer and you were plotting the best way for me to die?**

 **Stiles: Well I wasn't thankful for it then, no.**

 **Stiles: But even back then I knew you were important to me, somehow. I just didn't know you'd become my best friend and would matter to me more than almost anyone.**

 **Derek: Careful there, Stilinski, my phone is going to start oozing syrup.**

 **Stiles: Yeah, yeah. Emotions. Ick.**

Derek couldn't help the grin that stole onto his face. He missed this. He missed Stiles, but even more than that he missed the ease with which they communicated. The banter and light-hearted teasing had been gone for months and he hadn't realized how important it was until he was reminded how it had felt to have it.

 **Derek: I have to get back to my book.**

 **Stiles: Can I talk to you tonight?**

 **Derek: We'll see. I'm about to start the last chapter and I'm still a week ahead of my deadline, so I might be able to make some time.**

 **Stiles: It's a Christmas miracle!**

 **Derek: It's Thanksgiving, dumbass. Now I** _ **really**_ **have to get back to work.**

 **Stiles: I know. I'll talk to you later.**

He didn't bother to respond, instead turning the phone completely off. Melania was going to lose her mind later, but she'd be fine once he turned in his completed manuscript. Better than fine, probably; Derek was pretty sure this was going to beat his last book in terms of sales. It was, quite possibly, the best thing he'd ever written.

Since he'd managed to work through endless days and weeks in order to make up time, he'd actually gotten himself into a comfortable place. The next chapter would only take another two days, three at most, and he had just over a week left. That was his justification for saving his file three times, just in case, and gently closing the lid of the laptop.

Standing, he crossed to the floor-to-ceiling window wall of the penthouse apartment Melania had leased for the month. He'd protested the excess, saying there was no reason for him to have such an opulent living space when literally his entire day was spent either at his computer or in his bed, and truth be told, the second got very little of his time. She'd insisted, saying that a small hotel room would feel cramped and impersonal and would probably make him feel closed in. Reminding her that he'd worked out of his apartment for more than six years, successfully, had only earned him a scowl and a push through the door.

On the rare occasion he'd allowed himself a short break, however, he was grateful for the penthouse. The view was incredible and helped him clear his head. More often than not his thoughts had traveled to California instead of appreciating the New York City skyline, concentrating on Stiles and the boys. His family. God, he missed them so fucking much he could hardly stand it. If he wasn't so consumed by the book, he'd be miserable. As it was, any errant thought of them caused his heart to ache and he felt this _pull_ to turn around and go home. He ignored those insistent tugs every time, immersing himself back in the fictional world he'd created and writing with the single-minded determination of one who meant to escape his demons in any way he could.

The book would be finished soon, however, and Derek would have to make the decision whether to go back to Beacon Hills, back to the man he loved who only wanted him to be an emotional crutch, to take care of his family and make his life easy. Or he could stay in New York, turn into even more of a hermit, and never allow himself to feel anything for anyone ever again.

The second option was probably less dramatic than it sounded. It definitely appealed more. But his heart kept demanding that he buy a plane ticket home and return to Stiles, whatever the cost to himself. It insisted that a few more months, or even weeks, of being around him would be worth the misery in the end. He'd lose Stiles eventually, he knew that. But it didn't have to be right now.

He wondered, masochistically, if Stiles would see it as a loss. If he would feel like something had narrowly escaped his grasp and floated away into nothingness. Or if he would still be so consumed with mourning Lydia that he wouldn't even realize Derek had slipped away. Derek liked to think that he meant more to Stiles than that, but lately he couldn't help feeling like he'd become just another piece of the furniture in the house. He was reliable and comfortable and supported Stiles and his sons, but he wasn't essential. Just functional.

By the time he pulled away from the window and headed back for the laptop he was eager to escape his painful, torturous thoughts. Sliding the latch and lifting the top of it, he waited for it to wake up from its state of hibernation. As it always did, his breath caught when he saw the picture he'd chosen for his own desktop. It was eight years old and had been taken while they stood in line for the Supreme Scream at Knott's Berry Farm. Scott and Kira were home from school for a week to help her parents pack their house up for the move to Japan, and they wanted a break from the packing to have some fun with their friends. Stiles had decided they all had to go to the amusement park, so Derek had rolled his eyes and agreed, pretending reluctance but actually excited about being able to spend time with his boyfriend, _with_ their friends. It was a new experience for him, but one he found he was really looking forward to.

The line had been moving so slowly, and Stiles had been trying to torture him. Despite the screams from the riders plummeting toward the ground and the loud chattering of all the people standing in line, Derek had been completely in tune with Stiles' every word, groaning under his breath when Stiles murmured the things he was going to do to Derek when they got home. Scott had been grimacing, but unable to hold back a smile at seeing Stiles so happy.

Finally Derek couldn't take it anymore and he'd yanked Stiles to him, tipping his head down a little in order to press his forehead against the younger man's and just rest against him. Both their eyes had drifted closed, Derek's hands were on Stiles' hips, and Stiles' arms were wrapped loosely around Derek's shoulders. Kira had somehow managed to snap the picture and to this day it made Derek's heart race because they'd looked so in love, like nothing would ever be able to tear them apart. Like nothing in the world would ever be more important to them than the other.

He'd known then that he wanted to be with Stiles for the rest of his life. It was something that had been lurking around the edges of his subconscious ever since the first time he'd kissed Stiles, but it exploded in his brain at that moment. Breathing in the intoxicating scent of the man he was crazy in love with, reveling in holding him while being able to block out the rest of the noisy, chaotic crowd, had been one of the most blissful moments of his life. He'd never known such a sense of contentment, of peace.

A month later Lydia was home. A month after that he was in New York, single, and devastated.

Derek forcefully shoved the bittersweet memories away and re-opened the file containing his book, concentrating on re-reading the last chapter. He made a few minor edits, mostly word choices and removing the commas he knew he always overused, and settled back into his fictional world. Just one more chapter. He was almost done, and when he was, there would be plenty of time to decide what to do about Stiles.

lllll

Stiles stepped out of the cab, blinking up at the thirty-story building warily. He wasn't a country boy by any means, but he'd never experienced anything like the noisy, dirty, frenetically-paced island of Manhattan. If he was honest with himself, he felt entirely out of his element.

Squaring his shoulders, he put on his determined face and made his way to the front entrance. He'd never backed down from anything that was truly important, and this was maybe one of the most important things he'd ever done in his life. This was for Derek, for his happiness, for Stiles' happiness. This was for his _family_.

The lobby of the building was done in glass and chrome and it was clean, stark. It was also nearly empty, which surprised him. He'd kind of expected there to be a lot more people around. A bank of elevators was on the far wall and he crossed the floor quickly, his nerves and excitement pushing him almost into a run. Scanning the plaque between the two elevators on the right, he saw a sign for the office he was looking for, on floor twenty-seven. Stiles took a deep breath and punched the up arrow, shifting anxiously from one foot to the other while he waited for the distinctive ding and the smooth slide of the doors opening in front of him.

When the seemingly-interminable ride was over and the doors opened again, he stepped into the bustling hive of activity he'd been expecting. Kingston Publishing was nothing like he'd imagined it to be, but everything he thought it should be. The décor was done in cool grays, blues, and greens, and everything was sleek and modern. The staff, the ones he could see at least, were dressed in sharp suits, and everybody seemed to be on the phone, yelling about mock-up delays or shipments with damaged binding or a producer who was interested in buying rights to a novel.

"Welcome to Kingston Publishing, may I help you?"

Stiles started, drawn out of his absorption in the controlled chaos to face a Vogue model with a blinding smile. The kid looked no more than twenty-two at the absolute most and he was already more perfect than Stiles could ever hope to be. "Yeah, I, uh, I'm here to see Melania." He frowned, realizing Derek had never told him Melania's last name. "She's an editor?"

The smile widened even more. "Do you have an appointment with Ms. Kingston?"

Gaping at him, Stiles shook his head. Melania _owned_ this place? Derek had never said anything! In retrospect it didn't surprise him, considering that money had never mattered to Derek in the least. He wouldn't have even thought to mention his editor wasn't just some random employee.

The Vogue model's smile shrank until he was frowning. "Ms. Kingston is incredibly busy. I'm afraid if you don't have an appointment, you'll have to schedule one and come back."

Stiles wasn't about to let the kid push him away from his one avenue to find Derek. "My name is Stiles Stilinski," he said firmly, and the kid gave him an unimpressed look that clearly said, 'So what?' "If you tell Ms. Kingston I'm here, I'm sure she'll see me."

"I'm sorry," the kid said politely, his tone and face saying he wasn't sorry at all. "I can't interrupt Ms. Kingston when she's with one of her authors."

"Tell her Hale Devlin sent me," Stiles interrupted, hoping the name-dropping would work.

It did.

"Oh, _Hale_ sent you?" he asked, all smiles again. "Why didn't you say so?" The lascivious look on his face told Stiles, in great detail, exactly what kind of sway Derek had over this place. "A friend of Hale's is a friend of Ms. Kingston's. Hold on a moment." He pressed a button on his phone. "Genevieve? I have a gentleman here to see Ms. Kingston. He said his name is Stiles Stilinski and Hale Devlin sent him. Can you check to see if Ms. Kingston would like to see him?"

Stiles snuck a look at the nameplate on the other side of the computer. Kent. Of fucking course the perfectly-coiffed blonde with the toothpaste-commercial teeth would have a name like Kent. He refrained from fidgeting only by supreme force of will, holding his breath while waiting for Kent to give him good news or bad.

What seemed a lifetime later, Kent pressed the button again and beamed at Stiles. "Ms. Kingston has cleared her schedule for you." His tone was awed, as if he had no idea who Stiles was but wanted to know exactly how he'd come to have so much power. "Genevieve will be out in a moment to escort you back to her office. Would you like a bottle of water or a cup of coffee?"

"Neither, thanks," Stiles demurred, sticking his hands in his pockets and clenching handfuls of the inner fabric lining to keep his fingers occupied. After several agonizing minutes, a tall, willowy redhead stepped into the reception area and motioned for him to follow her.

"Ms. Kingston was very pleased when I said you were here," Genevieve said conversationally as she led him through labyrinthine hallways and past endless offices and conference rooms. She eyed him, a flirtatious smile creeping around her lips. "Kent said you know Mr. Devlin?"

"We've been friends for a dozen years," Stiles said absent-mindedly, his nerves mounting as he got closer to Melania's office. What if she hated him on-sight because he'd hurt Derek? What if she told him to fuck off and she would never tell him where Derek was? Would he have to admit defeat and go home?

The redhead gave him a speculative look, as if she wanted to find out exactly how close they'd been, and Stiles decided he'd have fun with it. "We dated for five months," he added, and her eyes lit up like she'd hit the jackpot.

"Everyone here wondered if he'd ever actually had a relationship," she admitted, then bit her lip as if she knew she was gossiping and was afraid it would come back to bite her on the ass.

"Let's let the rumors keep flying, okay?" he suggested, feeling guilty for divulging information Derek clearly hadn't seen fit to share. "It'll be our little secret."

She mimed zipping her lips and he grinned. They came to a smaller reception area and Genevieve knocked on a solid cherry-wood door, waiting for a moment to make sure it was okay to enter. When she opened it, she gestured for Stiles to step inside. "Ms. Kingston, Mr. Stilinski is here to see you now."

The woman who waved Genevieve off was nothing like Stiles had expected. He was so surprised he didn't even notice when Genevieve quietly slipped out of the office and eased the door shut behind her. He had thought Melania would be a tall, lithe blonde with talons for nails and a power skirt-suit in cherry red. What he'd never imagined was a woman several inches shorter than him with dark hair twisted up in a bun, stabbed through with a pen; he could even see streaks of royal purple winding through the black strands. She wore a nice pair of slacks and a dark gray tank top with a light pink cardigan over it. She was neither heavy nor slim; she was fairly average both in body and face. Stiles felt comfortable with her immediately.

"So you're the asshole who's been fucking with Hale's head?"

Or not.

"You hate me, don't you?" he asked, wincing.

Melania scoffed, gesturing at the chair on the other side of her desk and waiting pointedly for him to sit before she did herself. "Of course I don't hate you. You're the best damn thing to ever happen to him. I'm just pissed you couldn't wait until _after_ he was done with this book before you tied him up in knots. He's going to be on the bestseller list, or he was, until the stress of whatever your deal is dried up all his creative magic."

Stiles blinked. He knew from Derek that the woman didn't hold back in any way, but he hadn't thought she'd give her opinion of their friendship ten seconds in the door. "I didn't mean to?" he offered.

She rolled her eyes. "Nobody ever _means_ to, Stiles," she pointed out. "But you fucked each other up anyway."

He sighed, rubbing at his eyes. "Look, Ms. Kingston," he began, but she interrupted.

"Fuck that 'Ms. Kingston' shit. Call me Lani."

"Okay, Lani," he agreed, a smile quirking his lips despite himself. "I didn't come here to lament all the mistakes I've made with Derek. I came here to find him."

"Wasted trip. He's not here," she replied bluntly.

Rolling his eyes, Stiles smirked at her. "Duh," he retorted, and she grinned widely. "I know he's not _here_ , in the office. But he's here in New York, and I know damn well that you know exactly where he is. No," he interrupted when she opened her mouth, "don't even try to lie to me. Derek's told me enough about you for me to know there's no way he could be in this city without you keeping tabs on him."

She watched him in amusement. "You know that, huh?" He nodded firmly, and she shrugged. "Sure, I know where he is. I'm the one who leased the place for him. But I'm sure as hell not going to give you the name of it until you've convinced me you deserve to know it. And that you won't destroy him even worse than he was when he showed up here."

"Three weeks ago, or eight years ago?" Stiles asked quietly, and she studied him, impressed.

"Either. Both. I mean, I didn't meet him until after he'd been in New York for a year and a half. But he was still so wrecked, even then. I attributed it to why his writing was so fantastic, even though I had no idea what had gone on in his life to devastate him the way he still was. I never actually knew his story, you know. He never said anything, not until a few months ago when he told me why he wasn't coming back to New York."

Stiles nodded painfully. "Derek isn't exactly the most forthcoming with personal information," he mused ruefully. "He never has been, and even with me he's still sometimes pretty tight-lipped."

"Like the fact that he didn't tell you that living with you was slowly killing him, day by day?" she countered sharply, and he winced.

"That's exactly how Derek is," Stiles sighed. "I had no clue. I thought he was happy."

Melania snorted. "You're a fucking idiot," she told him bluntly, and he ducked his head in agreement. "How on earth did you _not_ know he was still head over heels in love with you?"

Stiles' eyes widened and he stared at her in disbelief. "He still loves me?" he asked stupidly, and she let out an exasperated huff.

"Of course he does! I didn't even know the story until several months ago, and even I can see how far gone the poor man is!" She eyed him shrewdly and he squirmed under her piercing stare. "Do you love him?" He opened his mouth to respond and she cut him off. "Let me rephrase that. It's clear that you love him. Do you love him enough to fight for him?"

He half-smiled at her. "I'm here, aren't I?"

A smile curved her lips. "Good answer." She considered him for a few moments, then, "He's at the Beresford, Central Park West, penthouse apartment. But don't go just yet. I know you're probably anxious to see him, but right about now is when he gets into the zone. He's forbidden me from texting or calling him between two and six. In the meantime, you and I can talk."

Stiles released a shuddery breath. He knew where Derek was. He'd be able to see him in-he checked his watch-an hour and a half. Taking out travel time, that meant he only had an hour to kill. "Are you sure?" he replied doubtfully. "I know you're a busy woman, and I didn't mean to take as much time from your day as I already have."

She waved him off. "One of the perks of owning this place. I set my own hours and if I want to clear my schedule for someone, nobody's going to bitch at me. Except maybe my authors, and most of them are self-important peacocks who could stand to be taken down a peg or two," she added with a wink.

Stiles laughed as he settled back into his chair. "How come you still work directly with your own team of authors?" he questioned her. "If you own this whole publishing house, you could delegate all that stuff."

"I don't delegate because this is what I love to do," she said with a shrug. "It's why I started this house to begin with. There are other people who are good at running the business side of things. I pay them well to do that. I prefer to read manuscripts and root through the slush pile occasionally, and work with and develop real talent. That's why Hale is mine, instead of being foisted off on some other editor." She beamed, her smile as proud as a mama bear. "I found his first manuscript in the slush pile, you know. It was pure luck that I happened across it, but it was magic, and I knew I had to bring him in to Kingston's."

"Derek told me his pen name was kind of a fluke," Stiles remarked, getting into the story.

Melania laughed. "My secretary. She put him down in my appointment book as Hale D. instead of D. Hale. I hadn't paid attention to the name on the cover, only the words inside it, so I had no clue who I was meeting."

"Was that Genevieve?"

She rolled her eyes. "Genevieve is all of twenty years old. She would have barely been thirteen when I found that gem. I think she's only been with me for four months or so. No, this was some other birdbrain who I fired for being incompetent. Although to be fair, I would never have come up with as great a pen name without her, so I should have thanked her before handing over the pink slip."

Stiles winced. "Man, you're brutal."

"Flattery will get you everywhere," she said easily, and Stiles chuckled. "Derek Hale is a perfectly nice name, but it's generic, and Hale Devlin helped get him noticed. Along with my team's fantastic marketing skills, of course, and that drop-dead gorgeous face plastered all over the back cover in black and white and all its brooding glory."

"Right?" Stiles agreed with a sigh. "I was married by the time that book came out, but it kept me company on a few lonely nights when my wife was on a business trip." When he realized what he'd said, he slapped his hand over his mouth in mortification. "Oh my God, please don't tell Derek I said that."

She giggled delightedly. "Your secret is safe with me," she promised, eyes twinkling. "But I'm glad you let it slip. It reinforces my decision to tell you where Hale is, and my belief that you'll be able to make him happy."

Stiles deflated. "I don't know that I can, honestly," he admitted. He thought for a moment that it should feel weird telling a virtual stranger all the emotional details of his relationship with Derek, but then he realized that Melania wasn't a stranger. She was just someone he hadn't known he was friends with yet. "I'm afraid I'm not healed enough, and that if I convince him to come home with the implicit promise of being together, I'll crumble under the guilt of moving on too fast."

"Do you really think your wife would want you to be miserable?" she asked practically, and he shook his head.

"No," he said honestly. "She wouldn't want me to be miserable. But that doesn't mean I don't feel like the worst kind of husband in the world for wanting someone else in my life already."

"Look, Stiles, here's some free advice. It's hard to find someone who makes us happy to our core, who we love with everything in us. When we do, it doesn't last." Her voice turned slightly melancholy, hinting at a story of her own. "You've been blessed enough to find that twice in your young life. Don't let it go because you're scared you're not following some arbitrary timeline for grief. Hale loves you and you love him, and from what I know of your history, it's always been that way. Forgive yourself for falling in love again, and don't let him walk away from you."

"You're a force to be reckoned with, aren't you?" Stiles acknowledged in amusement and not a little bit of awe.

Melania grinned. "I wouldn't be where I am today if I wasn't." Stiles liked that there was no false modesty. Glancing down at her watch, she stood and motioned for him to do the same. "We have just enough time for me to show you around and walk with you to the subway. I'll put you on a train and you should get to the Beresford right about the time when Hale will be coming up for air."

Stiles fell into step with her, his heart beating faster and his steps feeling lighter than they had in weeks. "You're amazing, Lani. Thank you so much," he murmured appreciatively, and she waved it away dismissively.

"Send me a wedding invitation and we're even." She caught sight of the hesitance in his expression and smiled kindly. "When you're ready to take that step, of course."

A lopsided grin bloomed on his face. "Deal."

lllll

Derek was just stepping out of the shower when he realized he'd forgotten to turn his phone back on. To be fair, he was feeling gross and his wolf was plaintively protesting his own smell, so when he'd come to a stopping point in the last chapter, he'd decided that he _needed_ to take the opportunity to get a shower in. It had taken priority over anything else, including checking his messages. He felt slightly guilty, but he figured his progress would keep him safe from Melania's wrath.

His hair was still wet when he scooped his phone up and pressed the power button. It didn't surprise him at all to hear a series of chimes as one text after another came pouring in.

 **Melania: How's it going, Hale?**

 **Melania: You're ignoring me, aren't you?**

 **Melania: Did you turn your phone off?**

 **Melania: You better not have turned your phone off.**

 **Melania: Fuck you, you turned your phone off.**

 **Melania: Turn your damn phone back on!**

 **Melania: You are going to feel like a total asshole when you get the present I'm sending your way. You'll feel horrible for ignoring me.**

 **Melania: You should love me, you know.**

 **Melania: Who am I kidding? I know you love me.**

 **Melania: Update me as soon as you get this, and then turn your phone off again. You won't want to be interrupted tonight. ;)**

Derek smirked at the expected string of messages. Melania did the same thing every time he was holed up, trying to finish his book as the days ticked by to his deadline, although this was the first time she'd sent him a present. He did feel kind of guilty; she was a serious pain in his ass, but she really looked out for him.

 **Derek: Lani, you know the drill by now. Of course I turned my phone off, you won't leave me the hell alone.**

 **Derek: I'm a few pages into the last chapter, though. Barring the return of my writer's block, I should be done by Friday at the latest. A full week early. You're welcome.**

 **Melania: See? I told you you could do it. Now turn your damn phone off and forget I exist until tomorrow.**

 **Derek: I can't do that. I need to be available in case Stiles or the boys need something. I'm kind of surprised I didn't get the same relentlessly hounding texts from him when I turned my phone back on, actually.**

 **Melania: :)**

 **Derek: What does that mean?**

 **Melania: :)**

 **Derek: I hate you.**

 **Melania: No you don't.**

 **Derek: Good night, Lani.**

 **Melania: And a** _ **very**_ **good night to you, too. ;)**

Rolling his eyes and sighing, Derek set the phone back down beside his laptop. He considered the computer for a moment, knowing he should probably sit down and get settled in for another few hours of writing, but he needed a damn break. He was in excellent shape, progress-wise. If he took the rest of the night off it wouldn't hurt him at all.

He hesitated before picking his phone up again. He'd told Stiles he would call him if he had some spare time, and he really should honor that. If he was honest with himself, though, the last thing he wanted to do was try and have a conversation over the phone. He didn't want to listen to Stiles stumble through excuses as to why he and Derek and the boys would never be a family, or apologies because he didn't mean for Derek to think he still had any kind of feelings for him, etc. He just wanted to finish the damn book and then move on with his life.

A knock at the door distracted him from his depressing thoughts and he was simultaneously grateful for and annoyed by it. He assumed it was the present Melania had mentioned, having been couriered over. As he approached the door, however, he realized he knew the heartbeat that was currently pounding on the other side of it. He knew the _scent_ , the one that always threatened to overwhelm him, just as it was doing now.

When the door swung open, he was already staring in disbelief before he even registered Stiles' anxious expression. "What the fuck are you doing here, Stiles?"

He mentally cursed when Stiles' face fell, evidently not expecting the less-than-warm welcome. "I wanted to talk to you."

Derek blinked. "Haven't you ever heard of a damn phone?"

Stiles pushed past him into the penthouse, his jaw half-dropping as he took in his surroundings. After a moment he shook himself, remembering Derek's question. "Like you would have answered if I'd called," he muttered belatedly. "You haven't exactly been the picture of healthy communication these last few weeks."

Derek swiped at his damp hair, noting in frustration that his hand was shaking. "There's a reason for that, Stiles. We've been over this. I have work to do."

"Lani said you're doing great and you're ahead of schedule," Stiles retorted mulishly, and Derek stared at him suspiciously.

"When did you talk to Lani? And since when do you call her that?"

Stiles collapsed on the couch, rubbing the palms of his hands against his denim-clad thighs. "I went to Kingston Publishing after I got off the plane," he admitted. His gaze lifted to Derek's accusingly. "You never told me she freaking _owns_ the whole publishing house!"

"It never seemed relevant," Derek shot back, seating himself gingerly on the edge of the chair across from Stiles, his whole body poised to leap up and take flight at any moment. "Back to my question. Why are you here? I can't imagine you flew all the way across the country just to talk."

"I'm here because the last time you ran away I lost you for a year," Stiles replied obstinately. "I wasn't going to risk that happening again. I know you, Derek. For whatever reason you felt like you had to come out here to lick your wounds and ignore me, and if I didn't force your hand you'd ignore me long enough that we'd lose everything."

Derek's eyes shuttered. "Do we really have anything to lose?" he returned hollowly.

Stiles stared at him in outrage. "What the hell do you mean, 'do we really have anything to lose'?" he sputtered. "We have _everything_ to lose!"

" _You_ do, you mean," Derek muttered bitterly.

"Do you really have that low of an opinion of me?" Stiles asked, devastation written across his handsome face. "Do you think you mean nothing to me except what I'm gaining from you being in our lives?"

Derek fell into silence but Stiles didn't seem in a rush to end it. He waited, watching Derek as he struggled to work through his thoughts. "No," he said eventually. "I know that I mean something to you. I just don't know what that is."

"How do you not know?" Stiles whispered. "Everyone else seems to."

"Do _you_?" Derek shot back pointedly.

Stiles ducked his head and Derek refused to let the avoidance hurt him. His heart had been broken by this man once before and it was going to happen again, sooner than he'd expected. He needed to resist succumbing to the misery for as long as he could, because once he was there he wouldn't be able to pull himself back out.

"Why do you think I want you in Beacon Hills?" Stiles asked finally, and Derek studied him.

"I make your life easier," he acknowledged. "I run your house the same way Lydia did, allowing your life to continue on as normally as possible. I give your sons stability and a second parent. I give you a partner, someone to talk to about your job and the boys."

"Those are all things I gain from you being there," Stiles agreed. "None of them are why I want you in our lives."

Derek shot off the edge of the chair and made his way blindly to the wall of windows, staring out at the sun setting over the electric Manhattan skyline in an effort to avoid thinking about the meaning behind Stiles' words. He tensed when he felt the other man come up behind him, turning and finding himself lost in Stiles' tender expression. Reluctantly, he took a step back, feeling his face harden. "I don't know what you want from me, but I just don't have it in me to give anymore, Stiles. I've got nothing left."

Something broke behind Stiles' eyes and he lifted a hand, reaching out for him, but Derek side-stepped him quickly. He started to turn away and Stiles grabbed his arm, pulling him back around to face him. "I'm not asking you to give me anything," he started, but before he could finish his thought, Derek glared at him and yanked his arm out of Stiles' grasp.

"Would you stop pushing this?" he snapped, and Stiles was suddenly glaring back at him.

"I'm pushing this because you're doing what you always do, trying to freeze me out before you get hurt!" he exclaimed in frustration. "Why can't you fucking just _trust_ me for once?"

"Because trusting you only ends up breaking me!" Derek snarled.

"Goddamn it, Derek, don't you get it? I _love_ you!" Stiles yelled, and Derek was pretty sure his heart stopped. All he could do was stare at Stiles in bewilderment as his friend deflated. "I love you, and it scares me. It scares me because I miss Lydia and I know I'm still mourning her death. It scares me because I still want this so much and these last three weeks without you have been pure fucking hell. It scares me because I don't know if I'm ready to make that commitment to you, but I feel like if I don't, I'll lose you. It scares me because you broke my goddamn heart once and I won't survive it if you do it again!"

Tirade over, Stiles stood before him, chest heaving with erratic breaths and anxiety and fear. The scent of it was palpable, wreathing him like wisps of fog. "You love me?" Derek repeated stupidly, and Stiles snorted harshly.

"I'm glad that's what you got out of that," he retorted sarcastically, and Derek felt himself melting from a frozen statue of anger and fear into something loose and boneless and baffled.

"I never thought you could feel that way," Derek admitted, barely above a whisper, and Stiles stepped carefully into him. He stood warily, not quite ready to accept what this all meant, and Stiles laid his hands on Derek's forearms, rubbing them gently. They traveled up his arms, cupping loosely around his elbows before sliding over his biceps, curling lightly around the muscles and flexing, kneading, until Derek was taking in a deep, shuddery breath.

"I've always felt that way," Stiles breathed, his head tilting forward. Derek did the same until their foreheads were resting gently against each other, and then Stiles' arms were winding around his neck, tugging on him until their bodies were pressed flush from hips to shoulders. Derek's arms banded around Stiles' waist as tightly as he could get them without crushing the younger man.

They stood there silently for several moments, doing nothing more than letting their breathing fall into sync with the other, letting their racing hearts calm into something languid and sweet and _everything._ When Derek felt like he could speak without his voice breaking and betraying him, he voiced the words that had wanted to escape for more than eight months. "I love you too, Stiles. I never stopped."

Stiles let out a half-sob, half-laugh, and pulled back to peer searchingly into Derek's eyes. "I always thought the reason you used Lydia as an excuse to leave was because you thought our relationship was a mistake."

"Never," Derek swore. "I left because I thought Lydia was the one you loved, and once she was back in your life and you knew you still had a shot with her, that it was just a matter of time before you chose her. I left you so you couldn't leave me."

"Would you do me a favor and stop trying to do my thinking for me?" Stiles murmured, and Derek nodded, guilt etched on his rugged features. "I'll never regret my marriage because I did love Lydia, and I love my sons, who wouldn't be here otherwise. But I also spent eight years thinking you didn't want me, and wondering if I would ever stop loving you."

Derek wanted to apologize, to beg Stiles' forgiveness. He'd spent eight years thinking he'd done the right thing for Stiles, and ultimately for himself, and he'd been so, so wrong. He wanted to open his mouth and promise Stiles he'd never do that to him, to _them_ , again.

Instead, Stiles lifted his hands and cupped Derek's jaw. He smiled sweetly, lovingly, and Derek couldn't breathe. He never thought he'd see that kind of love directed at him, not by Stiles. His heart pounded when Stiles' face drew closer, his gaze drawn to those full lips that had haunted his dreams, and then they were pressed to his, and Derek swore he was going to spontaneously combust.

For a few moments Stiles did nothing but brush soft kisses to his mouth, moving to drop a light kiss to the left corner of his lips, then to the right side to do the same thing. Stiles nipped at his lips, taking the lower one between his teeth and tugging gently, and Derek groaned as his blood pressure rose. He reached up to grab Stiles' wrists, not pulling them away, just holding them as Stiles continued to hold him, his thumbs rubbing softly against Derek's jawline.

Then his lips pressed against Derek's again and parted, and Derek sighed into the kiss, opening his own lips and feeling electricity shoot through him straight to his toes when Stiles' tongue met his and he remembered every moment of pleasure he'd experienced at this man's hands. As before, Stiles took his time, not rushing into anything more aggressive or insistent. Derek couldn't remember the last time he'd reveled in simple, sweet kisses. For that matter, he couldn't remember the last time he'd reveled in just being touched, by _anyone_. The only one who had ever mattered was Stiles.

Then Stiles' hips tilted, rocking gently against his, and Derek growled before he realized he was doing it. Stiles broke their kiss, laughing softly against Derek's mouth, and when he pulled back his eyes were practically twinkling. "Anxious?" he teased, and Derek's lips turned down into what could almost be called a pout, if it wasn't _Derek_.

"It's been eight and a half years," he grumbled. "I don't have the same sense of self-control I used to."

Stiles laughed again, the sound bright and sparkling. "You think you used to have _control_?" he mocked, affection lacing his voice. "I remember the night I fell out of your boat into the lake and you couldn't get me out of my clothes fast enough."

"You were cold," he reminded Stiles dryly. "I didn't want you to get sick. You're a baby when you're sick."

"Right," Stiles scoffed, a silly, happy grin playing around his lips. "Because the sight of me with my clothes plastered to me like a second skin didn't get your engine revving at _all_ , nope, that couldn't have been it."

Derek sighed and rolled his eyes long-sufferingly, but inside he was so overjoyed he was afraid he was going to burst out of his skin. Or his wolf would. "If I recall correctly, I told you to strip while I was heading to the kitchen to get soup on the stove for your dumb ass, and you wrapped your arms around me from behind. Of course I wasn't going to turn you down. You were wet and naked. And cold. I was trying to warm you up."

Grinning wickedly, Stiles eased back into Derek's personal space, pressing his body to Derek's. "I'm cold now," he murmured, tilting his head up with a playful, flirtatious expression. "Wanna warm me up?"

Derek wanted to, holy _fuck_ did he want to, but he hesitated. "Stiles." He faltered, not wanting to ruin what they'd started but afraid that if they rushed, it would ruin everything anyway.

Unsurprisingly, Stiles knew where the reluctance came from. "I can't promise you I'm ready to commit to this one hundred percent," he said, apparently going for brutal honesty, but Derek appreciated his forthrightness. "I _can_ promise you I love you, and I want this. I can promise you I will do everything in my power not to take you for granted. In return, I'm asking you to be patient and understanding with me. This isn't easy for me. I mean, don't get me wrong, loving you is easy. Moving on isn't."

The hope and trepidation warring on Stiles' face twisted Derek up. "I spent eight and a half years thinking I would never have you again, and it didn't matter. There was never anyone else," he replied roughly. "I can give you all the time you need." To punctuate the statement, Derek released his grip on Stiles and stepped back, even though it went against every instinct in his body.

Stiles stared at him in confusion. "Where are you going?"

"I'm giving you space," he answered, and Stiles shook his head.

"The last thing I want right now is space," he insisted, and he grabbed a handful of Derek's shirt, pulling him back in. "What I want is you. What I _need_ , is _you_."

Derek groaned. "This is dangerous."

"Why?" Stiles asked, frowning, and Derek gave him a half-smile.

"I've never been able to say no to you, not when it mattered," he admitted.

Beaming, Stiles tugged at Derek's hips, aligning them with his own and grinning in triumph when a low, pained hiss escaped the wolf's lips. "Then don't start now." He tipped his head back, exposing his throat, and Derek's eyes flashed omega blue. "What do you want to do with me, Derek?" he asked throatily.

Derek grinned back, the expression dark and predatory. " _Everything_ ," he breathed. "For the rest of our lives, I want everything with you."

Stiles looped his arms around Derek's neck and leaned in, brushing their mouths lightly together again. "'For the rest of our lives'," he echoed, smiling in wonder. "I like the sound of that." He paused, lifting his gaze to peer from beneath his lashes. "You know what I think, though?"

Derek's hands settled around Stiles' hips, holding them firmly against him while a contented smile played at the corners of his lips. "What do you think?"

"Forever has to start somewhere." Stiles grinned slyly at him. "And our forever starts tonight."

 **A/N 2: If you want the explicit continuation, go find my story Shadows Before Dawn. It picks up immediately where this leaves off and can serve as an "interlude" in the event I do write a part two of this, and a second ending in case I don't. (I felt like it needed to be posted separately so this didn't end with a gratuitous explicit scene when the entire rest of the story is rated T.)**


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